


Going slightly mad

by omagerdnerdynord



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019), Harley Quinn (Comics), Poison Ivy (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bisexual Harleen Quinzel, Coronavirus, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Lesbian Pamela Isley, Major Thirst, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Neighbors, Past Abuse, Quarantine, Sexual Tension, Smutty, Useless Gay Pining, dumbass gays, harley is a psychotherapist, pamela is a plant mom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25686715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omagerdnerdynord/pseuds/omagerdnerdynord
Summary: Pamela moves into a new flat just as lockdown starts and she’s stuck with a maddeningly loud neighbour. Harley is quarantined by herself and is bored out of her mind. They meet at the supermarket, neither realising they share a wall.Read this for some useless gay pining and sexual tension.ORThe quarantine Harlivy AU no one asked for that I wrote anyways.
Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 189
Kudos: 515





	1. Moving in

Who was going crazy in quarantine? Certainly not her!

Yup! Harley was doing great. She was doing _fine_. In fact, she was doing very important stuff right now.

Humming an upbeat tune to herself, Harley was sat on her office chair, using her feet to spin herself round and round _and round_ ‘til she felt dizzy, got up, and staggered to her bed in a fit of giggles. Lying back on her zebra-print sheets, she gazed at the ceiling, world still spinning amusingly around her.

After this positively _thrilling_ activity, she was planning to (she started mentally counting on her fingers): make her own bread, read a book, clean her closet, rearrange her clothes by colour, paint her nails, make dinner and then binge-watch some Wynonna Earp to satiate her basic needs. (Those needs being: hot women, violence, dumb jokes and hot women being violent while making dumb jokes.)

Limbs sprawled out on her bed like a starfish, Harley’s pale white hands and feet twirled outward, her head bopping to a rhythm only she could hear as she kept on adding items to her infinite list of distractions. She was determined to keep herself constantly busy no matter what. She couldn’t let herself think about how she couldn’t go outside, couldn’t enjoy spending time with people, couldn’t go to parties, restaurants, art galleries or movie theatres- _hell_ , she couldn’t even get _laid_ if she wanted to.

At that particularly depressing thought, Harley let out a long, deep guttural groan, shaking her fist up at the sky like some old geezer cursing the gods for his damned fate.

Just as quickly as the intention had popped into her head, she nimbly sprung herself up from the bed, jumping into the air and landing on her feet, arms held up above her head triumphantly as if she’d just finished a gymnastics routine.

She bowed theatrically and skipped over to her kitchen, launching her baking playlist from her laptop before gathering her ingredients on the counter. As she went through the familiar motions, her mind strayed.

_Funny how quarantine started jus’ as the new neighbour was supposed to move in... I wonder what they’re like. And how long this one’ll last._

\----

“So, how’s it going in the cursed apartment, my dear?”

“Stop calling it cursed, Selina.” Pamela mechanically manoeuvred herself from plant to plant, watering them and adjusting their position to the sun as she bickered with her friend through the phone that she was precariously holding to her face with her shoulder.

“But isn’t that what that odd realtor said? That no tenant has ever stayed more than a week here?”

Resisting the urge to massage her temples, she let out a sigh, put down her watering can, and moved to hold her phone to her ear properly. “No, Selina, he didn’t say that, stop being ridiculous.” After a small pregnant pause, she conceded. “…it was a month. No one has stayed here more than a month in the past few years.”

“Ha!” the smooth voice at the other end of the line started chuckling. “Well if you get _murdered_ , I’ll come to your grave, dig you up and tell you I told you so… Do you have any idea why this flat can’t keep a tenant? Is it unsanitary? Cramped? Overpriced? Someone was horrifically killed and is now haunting it? We _are_ in Gotham.”

“Ha, ha, very funny Selina. Actually, this apartment is amazing. It’s spacious, well situated in town, the rent is relatively cheap… and the best part is there’s a perfect space for all my babies!” at that, Pamela cooed at her plants, gently running her fingers on a nearby anthurium leaf.

She could tell from the resulting silence that her best friend was most probably rolling her eyes at her.

“I know you don’t care about my plants, just like I don’t give a rat’s ass about your cats, but I swear if you could come you would love it too!” She kept herself talking to avoid thinking about her quarantine-induced loneliness. “There’s this spacious veranda, big glass panes-perfect for sunlight, I can’t wait to see how well my babies are going to react and flourish in these new conditions it’s all so excit-“Pamela cleared her throat, realising she’d started talking about her plants again.

“As I was saying, there’s this beautiful veranda where you have this breathtaking view of the city. As soon as we’re allowed to see each other again, I swear we can enjoy drinks together, maybe go out, have fun?”

“…Selina? Are you still there?”

“Yes dear, I was just checking the temperature to see if hell had frozen over.” Her friend said with a playful lilt in her voice. “You, _the_ plant mom, making plans to drink and go out…Your dry spell must be getting quite long if you’re that desperate.”

Pamela was glad Selina wasn’t there to see her get flustered, heat rising to her bronze cheeks. She was a grown woman, _very_ comfortable with her needs, but she was a bit ashamed of how long it had been... It wasn’t for lack of libido, she just was _really_ into her work and never found the time to date, couldn’t be bothered to try and find some girl to hook up with through a dating app.

“Well if you must know, yes, it has been a while.” Pamela admitted as nonchalantly as she could.

She didn’t give Selina time to reply, opting to change the subject quickly. “Anyways, the point is I really missed you these past few years in Seattle and I want to unwind, enjoy ourselves like we used to. I thought that now that I’d moved back to Gotham, I’d get to see more of you, but I guess Gaia is bent on keeping me away from you.”

Selina huffed. “If you think flattering me will make me drop the subject…you’re right. You know me so well.” They both laughed.

Selina’s voice rang with honesty. “You know I’m loathe to admit it kitten -I have a reputation to uphold after all- but I also missed your company. I’m really hoping restrictions will change soon so we can have some fun, just like old times.”

Pamela felt warmth bloom in her chest at that. She didn’t have many people in her life, and Selina was her closest friend, one that had known her for longer than she could remember. She was one of the only constants in her life. Well, that and her parents’ disheartening disapproval and displeasure no matter what she did.

She and Selina had met young and had grown up together in the same social circles, studying at the same snobby schools, attending the same frivolous events held for Gotham’s most wealthy and influential. They’d bonded easily over absent yet demanding parents, over the unbearably rigid and stuffy environment they had to withstand, over the suffocating rules and etiquette and expectations thrust upon them from birth. Selina had been her rock against the storm that was her mother’s abuse. She’d been her confidante when she’d realized she was gay, her refuge when her parents had threatened to disown her unless she “stopped with this nonsense and married a nice Christian boy”. She couldn’t imagine her life without Selina Kyle in it.

She basked in the familiar comfort of bickering with her best friend, smiling softly against the phone she held against her cheek.

\--

Pamela had now been living in her new apartment for one week. One very, _very_ long week.

The mystery of why this apartment could not keep a tenant hadn’t been a mystery for very long. The walls were paper thin and the person living across from her was most probably a troll. Her ear plugs had become her new best friend.

What made it particularly unbearable was that she and her neighbour didn’t seem to live on the same time zone, and the lockdown meant they were both in their apartments 24/7. It felt like they were quarantined _together_ , honestly.

In the morning, everything was fine. Great, even. She could tend to her plants in peace, listening to her gardening playlist, read her books, get some work done with a nice cup of tea… But then as morning turned to noon, she’d lose all focus when obnoxiously loud music would blast through the wall, accompanied by thumps and grunts that she could only ascribe to someone working out. And the blaring music didn’t stop after that. All day, it would just be accompanied by other, random, various noises as her neighbour would cook, or clean, or whatever it is that they were doing. More than once she’d gotten false hope when the music had finally stopped, only for a TV to be turned on and take over. It was just insufferably _loud_. And Pamela, much like plants, enjoyed her silence.

The incompatible time zones became much more problematic at night when Pamela was desperately chasing sleep. The sound carried in a way that made it feel like someone was in her apartment, in her room, and it made her skin crawl, left her on high alert, too stressed out to fall asleep. Her ear plugs blocked off the music and the bass well enough, but all the other sounds seemed to bleed through: the footsteps, the shuffling, the occasional cough, the dropping of things, the scraping of chairs against the floor…In her insomnia Pamela had had ample time to document all the different noises keeping her awake.

She could only blame herself for not being more suspicious of this too-good-to-be-true opportunity, for not digging deeper into why this apartment had a revolving door of tenants. But then again, she’d been eager to leave Seattle, eager to start anew as soon as she’d gotten her doctorate. If she hadn’t decided to move so swiftly, she probably wouldn’t have been able to move away for some time. Pamela shuddered at the thought of being stuck in that cursed city. And now she had to live with the consequences of her spontaneity. She reckoned she probably preferred this aural ordeal than the thought of still living in the same city as _him_.

She took a deep, calming breath, pivoting back to her previous trail of thought, far away from her nightmare fuel.

Of course, she’d tried getting the neighbour from hell to pipe the fuck down. Following the etiquette her mother had instilled in her so deeply, she’d written them a perfectly worded letter and put it in their mailbox ( _their name was apparently H. Quinzel_ ). Then she’d rewritten that same note and slid it under their door in case they didn’t leave their apartment at all during the lockdown. Obviously, she would bang her hand on their shared walls when it got particularly loud, but she thinks this _Quinzel_ character probably couldn’t even hear those over the noise they were making.

But Pamela was holding on. For fuck’s sake she was not a pushover and she loved this apartment despite everything. Her plants had perfectly acclimated in the veranda and she couldn’t be happier about that…and it’s not like she could leave either. The quarantine was still in effect and she was pretty sure the real estate market was not in a good place. Most importantly, she didn’t think she’d be able to find an affordable apartment with enough room for her all her green children, nor such perfect conditions in terms of lighting and humidity.

Ever since she was a little girl, taking care of plants had just naturally soothed her. It was no surprise that she’d pursued her studies and now a career in botany and biochemistry. At first it had been a way to get away from her parents. A way to retake control of her life and push back against her mother’s painfully strict plan for her life. But it had quickly become one of her greatest sources of joy, discovering that she had the power to nurture, to grow, to make beautiful things thrive with her hard work and dedication. Combine this passion with her sharp intellect and she soon had amassed a vast pool of knowledge on plant life and an ambition to learn more than anyone had ever learned on the subject.

The long hours she dedicated to her plants, the little time she spent with her peers and the scathing remarks she was capable of earned her the nickname of ‘Poison Ivy’ at school. At first it had hurt her feelings but Selina’s humour on the matter quickly changed her mind, making her quite fond of the moniker in the end.

So since childhood, she’d been aware she wasn’t a very social person. Still, she was pleasantly surprised with how content she was being cut off from society (if one overlooked her rambunctious neighbour).

Getting to concentrate on her work and her babies without having to pander to bothersome colleagues had been a most blissful experience. No more small talk. No more forcing herself to be polite to men who kept on ogling her when they thought she wasn’t looking. No more having to choose her words carefully, having to make herself seem less brilliant than she actually was to avoid ruffling up men’s overblown egos. If not for the fact that the coronavirus was keeping her away from Selina and nature, she wouldn’t mind this becoming the new status quo.

Speak of the devil, she had been meaning to ring Selina up for an update. She retrieved her laptop from her bedroom and placed it on the coffee table, sinking into her couch comfortably. After a few clicks and moments waiting for her to pick up, the screen lit up with the slightly pixelated image of her best friend.

“Hello, kitten. Didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again. Thought you’d be murdered by now.”

“And I thought you’d have moved on to a better joke by now.” She replied evenly.

“Ouch.” Selina feigned being hurt, holding up her hand to her chest, diamond ring glinting against her warm olive skin (of course she was wearing expensive jewellery). “So, what have you been up to? Mostly working and tending to your precious plants I suppose? Have you figured out what’s wrong with your apartment?”

“Yes, and yes. I’ve mostly been working. And it turns out I live next to the human equivalent of _bagpipes_.” She let out a groan and dropped her head between her hands. Mentioning it had re-triggered her awareness to the constant noise emanating from the other side of the wall.

Selina’s laugh, like her voice, was rich and melodious, and usually pleasant to listen to. When you’re being mocked…less so. She glared at her screen until her laughter died out.

Selina raised a dark eyebrow pointedly at her, a smile tugging on her lips. “Oh, this feels great. I even have the power to be the bigger person right now…But I won’t be. I’m petty and I love it. _I told you so_.” Her eyes narrowed at Pamela “If you didn’t have such a massive ego and had listened to me, I could’ve arranged your living arrangements with no problems. But _nooo_ , you’re _Doctor_ Pamela Isley now, you can do everything yourself.”

“…Are you done gloating?” Pamela grumbled.

“For today, yes. I’ll leave you all the details about how well I’ve adjusted to quarantine for another time. I can feel you have something else you want to share.”

“It’s uncanny how you always do that. It’s like you have more senses than us regular mortals.” She laughed nervously before carrying on. “But, as always,” She looked up, exasperation clear in her eyes. “you’re right. Something’s been on my mind. I met this gorgeous woman at the supermarket, and I can’t stop thinking about her…it’s driving me insane. I even had a dream about her.”

“ _Oh_? That doesn’t sound like you at all. My little misanthrope.” On the screen, she saw Selina lean forward, hands interlocked under her chin. Pamela could tell that she’d _strongly_ piqued her interest.

“I know, which is why I wanted to talk to you about it. What should I do? I didn’t catch her number, just a name.” Try as she might to hide it, her voice betrayed how important this was to her.

“I don’t know. Is this your heart or your genitals talking? You haven’t gotten any in quite some time, right?”

“Your repeated jokes at the expense of my supposed dry spell suggests you’re just as frustrated, _kitten_.” Pamela parried. “What’s wrong, you haven’t seen much of Bruce lately?”

“Answering a question with a question I see. I’ll take that as a ‘yes, I’m a useless lesbian who thinks with her genitals’, Pam.”

\----

She hated grocery shopping. No matter how hard she wished she could survive efficiently on sunlight and water like her plants, she was still a human with basic needs. And thus, like the most common of mortals, Dr Pamela Lillian Isley was begrudgingly and impatiently standing in line at the supermarket closest to her apartment building.

Lockdown rules obliged; everyone was standing relatively far from each other to respect safety guidelines. _That_ was a positive side effect from this whole crisis: people _finally_ respecting her personal space. The cashier was wearing a mask and disinfected her hands every time she handled cash. The poor girl’s hands must be dry and red. She’d have more sympathy for her if she hadn’t been waiting in line for what felt like eons.

A voice boomed over the intercom. “Cashier 4 will now open.”

Before she’d had any time to react, a good chunk of the people behind her had stepped forward and queued up at the newly opened checkout. Her lips thinned and her brow furrowed at the line-cutters. They were being processed quickly, leaving the supermarket with their stashes of pasta and toilet paper under their arm. Dumb hoarders.

It doesn’t matter, it was just a queue. She tried to reason with herself, but she could feel her temper simmering under the surface.

“Well that ain’t fair.” A voice chirped up from behind her.

She turned around to face the person behind her, with the full intention of following up on that comment with intelligible English. Instead, she heard herself let out the tiniest whine at the sight before her, mouth hanging slightly ajar.

She probably hadn’t noticed the woman because she’d been further back in the queue before the other register had opened. But now, Pamela only had eyes for her.

_Fuck._ This woman just _radiated_ natural warmth and kindness, and it felt like it was melting away the ever cool and collected composure she always had in public.

Piercing blue eyes, looking right at her. Blue eyes she immediately got lost in. Blue eyes that crinkled at the sides as a genuine megawatt smile was sent her way, triggering her fight or flight response (knowing the scientific reason behind the butterflies in her stomach didn’t stop them from happening).

No woman had ever elicited such a reaction out of her like this before.

Pamela suddenly recalled that as a teenager she’d had to read a romantic novel for school and had absolutely despised it. She’d scoffed and had told her teacher that the flowery language and ways the romantic interests saw and felt for each other were exaggerated and fake. Well, it seemed Gaia’s plans were to make her eat her words today _._ And be happy about it, too. She felt like she could spend hours just _looking_ at her. That no words would ever be able to describe what she felt in this moment.

And damn, these were some dangerous weapons pointed right at her. _That smile, those eyes_ …Thankfully her brain managed to reboot before the stranger could notice she’d been staring like a total creep. She nervously cleared her throat. Be cool, Pam.

“I don’t mind… in the end it’s just a queue, right?”

“Yeah I guess…” the woman let out a little huff. “But it just rubs me the wrong way when folks got no manners, ya know?”

Pamela silently acquiesced, not trusting herself or her voice right now.

This woman was _hot._ And it was making her whole face _hot_. Thank god she had experience dissociating in public (thank you, mother) because she managed to hold up her nonchalant poise, nod along, and walk forward as the queue progressed…but she was still unable to tear her eyes away from the blonde who’d suddenly and adorably started chatting her up from two meters away.

Her hair was tied up in messy little pigtails with dip-dyed ends, one blue, one pink. Clad in black and blue striped mini shorts and a bright pink sports bra, she’d seemingly hastily covered her outfit with a plain, white and slightly see-through shirt. From the extensive amount of pale skin available to her eyes, Pamela noticed the many tattoos scattered across her toned body.

She didn’t like falling into stereotypes, but she was sincerely hoping the dyed hair, tattoos and athletic body meant this woman batted for her team. (If she didn’t, it would be blasphemy against Sappho). She barely managed to refrain from biting her lower lip, letting her eyes hungrily rake over the oblivious ray of sunshine before her. Sinful images of their bodies tangled together flashed through her mind, unbidden.

With a hard blink, she forced her thoughts out of the gutter and tuned back into the conversation.

“…anyways, sorry for talkin’ your ears off. Name’s Harley, nice to meet ya!” Her voice was chipper, and she spoke in the thickest, most endearing Gotham accent Pamela had ever heard. She extended her hand and then quickly retracted it, cheeks getting rosy as she remembered government guidelines.

Pamela couldn’t stop the gentle smile from tugging at her lips. “I’m Pamela. Likewise.”

She most probably would have asked if she lived nearby, or would’ve asked her for her number, but the cashier interrupted her trail of thought with a loud “Next!”.

She fell into the motions of bagging up her groceries and only noticed she’d forgotten to ask the mystery girl for her number when she arrived at her door. _You fucking idiot._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this !! I'll be back with a second chapter very soon ;) 
> 
> Comments and kudos make my day so don't be shy! If you don't know what to comment just put a sentence you really liked, or tell me where I made a mistake hahaha
> 
> (ALSO I'm imagining Harley as Margot Robbie, Pamela as Rihanna and Selina as Zoe Kravitz if that helps for mental visualization? That's how I'm describing them at least. Let's all pray to Sappho we'll get a Gotham City Sirens movie one day )


	2. Running away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We continue our story right where we left off, right after Harley and Pam met at the supermarket.  
> *fans self* also this chapter gets a little heated so beware ;)
> 
> Shoutout to Marie and Justine for helping me out with the plot <3

_You fuckin’ idiot, Harleen_. Harley sighed and dragged her feet as she entered her apartment, groceries in tow. She toed off her shoes and moved towards her kitchen, quickly putting everything away in the cupboards and refrigerator.

And she’d been in such a good mood before leaving, too… She let out a deep sigh.

Now she just felt disappointed that she hadn’t gotten that woman's- _Pamela_ 's number. She’d probably never see her again.

\---

She’d instantly noticed the beautiful woman in the supermarket, her beautiful red hair catching her attention as soon as she walked by her, making her heart beat just a little faster. As she filled her basket with the items on her grocery list, her eyes would dart around, trying to see more than the flash of red and green.

She felt like the luckiest gal in the world when all the people between her and the mystery woman had magically moved away to another queue, giving her the opportunity to get closer (as much as ya could get closer in these times of course). She thanked the gods almighty she’d been born a chatterbox because she effortlessly managed to initiate a conversation under a false pretence.

She also felt like the luckiest gal in the world when the woman turned around, for it must surely be an honour to set her eyes on such beauty. Her skin was a gorgeous light brown, slightly wrinkled at her brow from what she assumed was frustration at the other customers. However, the woman’s irritation seemed to melt away as soon as their eyes locked, amber greens meeting her electric blues.

Her lovely, full red lips parted slightly, and Harley really hoped she didn’t notice that her gaze had immediately darted down because _yes,_ she felt an urge to capture those plump lips with her own and never stop kissing them, but _no,_ that was quite inappropriate as they were total strangers. She could swear her heart skipped a beat when the woman returned her smile and introduced herself. Her voice was like velvet to her ears, rich and beautiful, and her tender smile revealed the cutest dimple on her left cheek.

_Pamela_. Pammie. Pam-a-lamb. She could think of a thousand adorable nicknames she’d love to call this woman. …was she being weird? Maybe so, but she felt this natural pull, wanted nothing more than to spend more time with her, get to know her.

_Get to know her reaaal good, eh Harley?_

She shut down her intrusive thought, blinking herself back to reality. It was Pamela’s turn at the checkout and her arms were moving back and forth from her basket to the conveyor belt, placing her items there swiftly and efficiently.

The movement brought the whole of Pamela into her focus, and she suddenly noticed the more formal type of clothing she was wearing. The deep green A-line dress hugged her curves sinfully well and was perfectly matched with a white blazer and heels. Her skin prickled at the sight, the very teacher-like outfit triggering particular fantasies she used to have in college…it seems she still hadn’t gotten over her thing for uptight, female authority figures.

Harley made a point of not letting her eyes roam too much on Pamela’s exquisite hourglass figure and long legs. Her mother had raised her better than that.

\---

If she’d known she wouldn’t see her again she would’ve stared all she wanted, creepy or not. What did she get for being a polite gal, after all?

A few days had passed, and she’d gone to the supermarket more often than usual. She tried to trick herself into thinking it was because it was the only outing she was allowed and she needed some fresh air, but deep down she knew she was hoping to see her again.

The days had started bleeding into each other, and it was getting harder and harder to feel sane. She kept herself busy of course, but the lack of change in scenery made her feel like a lion pacing in a cage.

She was starting to get tired of treating her patients through her computer screen. She was tired of working out and doing the same gymnastics routine indoors, thinking back fondly of the days where she could mix it up and have fun with her gym buddies. She was tired of all the hobbies she’d get into and get sick of after a few days. She was tired of the playlists that she used to love but were becoming less and less effective in making her feel less alone in her apartment.

She couldn’t imagine how people in 1820 and 1920 had dealt with _their_ pandemics because without technology she would’ve lost her marbles a long time ago. Harley needed excitement, chaos and people in her life. She was hanging on by a thread, calling her friends Babs and Joan as often as she could.

Harley was aware that her corporal isolation and subsequent lack of real-life social interaction was behind her sudden touch deprivation. But sadly, there was no solution to this problem as safety guidelines prevented her from any contact with people outside her household…and she lived alone.

She didn’t need her doctorate in psychology to know that if this went on for too long, these feelings of affection deprivation would quickly cause low mood, loneliness, stress and depressed thoughts. She definitely did not need this right now, _just_ as she’d moved on and finally gotten her life back on track.

If that wasn’t enough, her body had decided this was the perfect time to be super horny all the time. Which is why right now, she was lying back comfortably on her bed, a frenzied hand between her thighs and thinking of the red-haired goddess from the supermarket.

Already breathless, she was picturing crimson lipstick smeared all over her neck, down her chest and across her thighs, a beautiful trail that she traced with her hand, imagining a sweet frustration that Pamela would’ve inflicted upon her. In her fantasy, the redhead’s beautiful face was staring right back at her from between her legs with a devilish smile and half-lidded eyes.

She could almost _feel_ the warm heat of her lips teasing her, nipping at her and then finally devouring her sinfully… the mental image of Pamela eagerly ravaging her made her blood pound in her ears as her heartbeat quickened. She was vaguely aware of the whimpering sounds and curses she was letting out as she pleasured herself, but she’d completely immersed herself in her fantasy, muscle memory guiding her fingers against her warm centre.

Her toes curled and her back arched as a familiar, tight heat started building up in her body. In her mind’s eye she was shamelessly riding Pamela’s mouth and fingers, the sultry eyes’ insistent gaze working her up even more, her mewls and sighs of pleasure getting higher and higher.

She faintly heard three knocks at her door but paid them no mind- she was _so fucking close_ -

“Mnh- oh god!” Her eyes closed reflexively, all the muscles in her body tensing up in anticipation as she neared her peak.

But much louder knocks suddenly snapped her out of her trance-like state, her once frantic hand stilling in surprise. She felt the pressure she’d been so intently building fleet away; the moment was ruined.

Oh, _for fuck’s sake_. She was going to absolutely _murder_ whoever had interrupted her. She swiftly licked her fingers clean, pulled her shorts back on and walked out of her room and to the door, carding her hands through her hair as she passed a mirror in a last-minute effort to look less conspicuous. Her cheeks and chest were flushed and her breathing slightly laboured, but it’s not like she could do anything about _that_.

Eyes narrowed and body tense from barely bottled frustration, she sharply swung the door open, ready to chew off whoever had dared to-

Her mind came to a screeching halt. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

“Red?”

She felt heat pool between her legs as her arousal returned with renewed fervour, the object of her desires staring right back at her with what seemed equal surprise.

\-----

She’d been peacefully reading a book on her sofa, basking in a rare silence for the past hour when said silence was suddenly broken. High-pitched, breathy sounds and exclamations reached her ears, and she looked up accusingly at the wall she shared with Godzilla.

_Great_. The neighbour was watching porn. With the volume on max.

A loud, wanton moan ripped through the air. “ _Fuck,_ yes…ah!”

The walls were so thin she could hear slick noises and a woman’s voice rambling and swearing under her breath. Despite herself, Pamela felt her cheeks burn and a slight tingle of heat in her lower belly.

_That was just a perfectly normal physiological reaction to erotic stimulus_. She quickly reasoned with herself and dismissed her reaction, but she was failing miserably at blocking out the more and more frequent sounds of ecstasy emanating from her neighbour’s flat.

_Ugh. Porn is so unrealistic. No woman would actually sound so…well…like **that**._

At least this confirmed the suspicions she and Selina had. Her neighbour was definitely a straight man. Based off the workout noises, constant trashy music, sounds of cartoons and blockbuster action movies and just general lack of concern for his neighbours, _H. Quinzel_ was most certainly a fuckboy. And he was jacking off right on the other side of that wall. _Gross_.

When 5 minutes came and went, and the sounds kept on going (isn’t that how long heterosexual men usually lasted?) she snapped her book shut and put it down.

If Pamela had been thinking clearly, she would have immediately realized it was a terrible idea to go up to her neighbour’s door to demand he turn down the volume on his porn, for various reasons. But Pamela wasn’t thinking clearly. She was fed up, days upon days of frustration building up against this mystery person who was apparently incapable of living without broadcasting his every activity to the world.

She’d tried it mother’s way. It was time for direct confrontation.

She walked up to his door and gave three firm knocks. A mix of simmering rage and shameful arousal had made her cheeks darken with blood, but she still held herself with pride, her face as unreadable as she could make it.

“ _Mnh- oh god_!” She could hear the porn still playing on the other side of the door and she reflexively started banging her hand louder on the wood to drown it out.

The noise finally stopped, and she heard someone shuffling on the other side of the door. Suddenly, it swung open, and in front of her was _not_ a buff heterosexual man.

“Red?”

_Oh._

Her sharp mind raced, quickly piecing together all the information into something coherent. The H in H. Quinzel stood for… Harley. Her neighbour was the woman from the supermarket.

_Oh, fuck._

The same woman who’d monopolized her thoughts from the moment they met, the one she’d cautiously hoped she’d bump into again. The woman for whom she’d lingered in the aisles, secretly hoping she’d catch a glimpse of kind blue eyes. The woman whose genuine smile had made her heart sing. The one who’d haunted her dreams in the best of ways, forcing her to take cold showers after nights of tossing and turning. _That woman_. Harley.

Harley was _her neighbour_.

Something seemed to break in her mind as she tried to reconcile the two opposite personas. It was like trying to tell her brain that blue was actually red. On one hand she’d forged a portrait of this loud, annoying neighbour whom she fervently hated for making her day-to-day a living hell, robbing her of sleep and goddamn peace and quiet. On the other was this incredibly beautiful ray of sunshine she wanted to get to know, wanted to kiss breathless for the rest of time.

Her stomach turned at the swirling, confused mix of emotions hitting her full force.

But then something worse occurred to her. Those noises weren’t from _porn_.

She felt herself unconsciously throb at the realisation, her mind instantly conjuring images of Harley’s face scrunching up in pleasure, head falling back and exposing her creamy neck, the sensual moans she’d heard earlier now echoing _very differentl_ y in her mind.

Immediately she became acutely aware of Harley’s physical state. She was standing there in a crop top and tiny booty shorts, her face probably mirroring her own shock. Her cheeks and torso were flushed pink, her breathing slightly laboured, her lower lip plump and red from biting, probably. Her blonde hair was down and tousled, and her soft eyes were flitting across her face, confused. The exquisite image burned itself into her memory at once, and was it her or was it getting hot in here?

With each detail, Pamela’s mind supplied tortuous mental images of what Harley must’ve been up to before she’d interrupted her. She let out a long, shaky exhale at that, trying to centre herself. Although it felt like longer, they’d probably been staring at each other in shock for about a minute now, and someone would have to say something-

Harley broke the silence first. “W-what are you doing here? I-“

But she didn’t get to finish her sentence.

The human brain is a strange thing. Sometimes you don’t react the way you would expect to. Harley’s voice had triggered her mind to finally settle on _flight_ rather than _fight_ (although here fight would probably have been something else if she was honest with herself) _._

So, the moment Harley spoke, her body spun on its heel and _ran away_. Not to her apartment- which would’ve made more sense, honestly. No. Dr Pamela Lillian Isley fled the building entirely, her brain operating on autopilot.

When she finally came to, she was sitting on a bench in Robinson Park, realizing dumbly that she definitely shouldn’t be there considering how all parks had been closed to the public. How did she even get here?

She checked her watch, realising that it was still relatively early, nearly 4 in the afternoon, so at least she didn’t have to worry about the sun setting just yet. She let herself take in her surroundings, taking a deep, relaxing breath of fresh air. Oh, how she’d missed nature.

She let her eyes close, her shoulders dropped, and she listened to the wind rustling through the trees, the birds chirping … her breathing was slow and deep, the repetitive inhales and exhales calming her mind like the waves smooth out the sand on the beach. When she opened her eyes, she mechanically identified all the species of flowers in her vicinity, her smile softening her features at the beautiful sight.

Once she felt collected, she took out her phone from her pocket and dialled Selina’s number. Only she could help her make sense of her situation.

“Hello?”

“Hey Selina.” She sighed deeply, already anticipating the clusterfuck this conversation was about to become.

“Kitten.” Selina evenly replied. With a chuckle in her voice she continued. “What did the asshole do this time? Listen to Katy Perry on repeat?”

Pamela had planned on leaving some important parts out of her story to spare her pride and was about to start her explanation when Selina’s voice perked up.

“Are those birds I’m hearing in the background? Where the hell are you?”

_Right._ There was no way she could hide the truth from her very astute friend. So, she resigned herself to telling her the whole truth.

She told her how she’d started hearing pornographic moans from what they assumed was her straight male neighbour’s side of the wall, and how she’d stupidly went up and knocked on his door. Her voice cracked a bit as she told her how Harley had been the one to open the door, looking like an absolute snack, and how she’d panicked and fled the scene to Robinson park.

“Selina?”

“Yes, sorry, I’m still wondering why you’re in Robinson Park?”

“ _That’s_ what you choose to focus on? Really?” Pamela’s right hand shot up to rub her temples. She let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know, I guess I instinctively came here to calm down.”

Selina let out a deep, throaty laugh. “Okay, _well_. Let me just get something straight. This woman, Harley, has been the one making all that noise and fucking up your sleep for weeks, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Well honestly I can only say one thing, then.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck your neighbour!”

“Yeah, fuck her!” Selina’s words ignited a righteous anger in her.

“No- honey. _Fuck_ your neighbour. Literally.”

“ _What?_ ” Pamela almost choked.

“ _Fuck her_. This is perfect, it solves everything. Now that you’ve finally found the balls to confront your neighbour maybe you can tell her to pipe the fuck down _and_ you can get in her pants, thus resolving the other source of your frustration.”

Pamela was starting to feel a dull pressure between her eyes, probably a headache from this rollercoaster of a day. “W-what? _No._ This doesn’t ‘solve everything’! On the contrary this _fucks up_ everything.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one, I’m not even sure how I feel about her now that I know she’s the loud monster I’ve been hating this whole time. Moreover, even if I still wanted to sleep with her- “

“-which you absolutely do, come _on_ -“

“ _Even_ if I still wanted to be with her, she’s my neighbour. If it doesn’t work out, then I’d be stuck sharing a paper-thin wall with an ex! How terrible would _that_ be?”

“ _Ugh._ What am I going to _do_ with you, you useless lesbian? The universe is basically handing you a hot chick on a platter and you say _no thank you_? Fine. Fine. So, what _is_ your plan? Let me guess. Do nothing and avoid her.”

“No. I’m going to go home, relax, take a bath, and then tomorrow I’m going to confront her and work something out so that she makes less noise.”

“You’re so _boring_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading !!! don't hesitate to leave a comment or a kudos <3


	3. Freaking out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //TW for brief mention of past sexual abuse//  
> Hope you enjoy some more Harley POV <3!!

Harley awkwardly used her elbow to press the right arrow on her keyboard to change the song, concentrating hard on preventing the flour on her hands from falling onto her computer. She’d been stress-baking ever since the _incident_ happened.

What the fuck. What. The. Fuck. _What the fuuck_. The voices in her head were chanting those three words over and over in various tones and to the beat of the music.

Even after making two batches of cookies and now pounding this dough into the counter, she couldn’t calm her brain down. And baking usually worked wonders on her mind.

She’d conjured up a thousand scenarios that would explain why the woman from the supermarket had been at her door, but none seemed plausible. Especially considering that Pamela's body language and facial expressions indicated she wasn’t expecting to see her either. So why had she been there? And why did she run away like that?

Maybe she’d hallucinated how the gorgeous woman’s eyes had raked over her body hungrily, how her cheeks had been darker, her breath shallow. Maybe it was her lust-addled, lonely brain that had made her imagine the whole thing and she hadn’t been there in the first place.

She flipped the dough and slammed her fists harder into it, kneading the flour in. Nothing made sense.

And If that wasn’t enough, she could still feel the burn of embarrassment on the tip of her ears when she thought back to the utter humiliation of suddenly being faced with the person she’d been pleasuring herself to just seconds before.

She wrapped the dough in cellophane and put it in her fridge to rest. Next was a cake. She gathered the necessary ingredients on the counter and- _shit_... She was out of sugar. And the stores were all closed by now.

She _couldn’t_ stay idle right now. She _needed_ that sugar.

After a split-second decision, she huffed, took her measuring cup, nudged her feet into her slippers, and walked out her apartment and to her neighbour’s door. Time to meet them, she guessed. Borrowing some sugar should be fine by government guidelines.

She knocked a few times and waited, bouncing on the balls of her feet. No one came.

She knocked again, loudly this time. She wasn’t a patient person. She heard hurried footsteps on the other side of the door, and then the light from her neighbour’s apartment illuminated the corridor.

Her brain froze. All time stopped. _Oh, fuck me._

There was a definite sense of déja vu as blue eyes met green. She felt heat spark in her body, spreading from her lower belly to the tip of her fingers and toes and all the way to the top of her head. 

Pamela stood proudly before her, wearing a hastily fastened bathrobe that barely reached her mid-thigh, water dripping down her hair, trailing down her smooth brown skin and distractingly dipping down between her breasts. Oh, how she wanted to follow that droplet, lick it up slowly with her tongue and worship her body until dawn. She wet her lips at the thought.

Pamela cleared her throat and thankfully her brain turned back on, everything clicking into place at once.

The final piece of the puzzle. It was so exceedingly simple she should’ve thought of it. Pamela was her neighbour. Earlier today she’d knocked on her door not knowing she’d be the one to answer it- but why would she- _oh, **no**._

_She heard._

Harley _knew_ that sound travelled really well between their apartments. She honestly could’ve self-combusted and died right then and there at her realisation, but a word spluttered out of her mouth before she could stop it.

“Sugar.”

Pamela pointedly raised an eyebrow at her, and she quickly followed up. “Uhm, I mean, I’m outta sugar.” She thrust forward the measuring cup she’d been loosely holding at her side as evidence.

“I was wonderin’ if you could lend me some? I’m makin’ a cake.” Her roaming eyes were still drinking in the intoxicating amount of skin before her. She swallowed hard; her mouth felt parched.

_There’s a tall glass a’ water right there, Harls._ _Just…take a sip._

Her knuckles went white against the handle.

“Please?” She quickly added to her request, doing everything she could to fill the awkward silence and stop her thoughts from derailing completely.

She thanked every deity she knew when Pamela replied, finally giving her more than just a pleasantly amused face and a raised eyebrow.

“Of course. What are neighbours for? I’ll be right back.” She took the measuring cup and turned around, leaving behind an open door and a slack-jawed Harley. Her eyes were glued to the hypnotising motion of Pamela’s retreating hips.

_Get it together! You have a PhD, motherfucker. You can handle being a functioning adult in front of a beautiful woman._ She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed in slowly, taking the few minutes of her absence as her chance to reboot.

She’d been caught off guard, that was all. It wasn’t fair that Pamela had figured it out before her. Even more unfair that anyone could look so good.

_Talk about **meeting** ya neighbour._ She chuckled to herself. This was gonna be a fun one to tell Babs.

She steeled herself for the woman’s return; without the element of surprise, she could definitely hold her own. A small smile etched itself on her face. Good thing she hadn’t put on proper clothes before leaving her flat, she knew how good she looked in those shorts and that crop top.

Pamela was back soon enough, measuring cup in hand (now filled with sugar). She handed it back wordlessly.

“Thank you so much. Would you like some later?” Harley intentionally dropped the quid-pro-quo, eyes glinting with mischief.

“I-I’m sorry- what?”

She expertly filed away all the small signals Pamela was failing to hide. The sharp way she’d inhaled, how she’d shifted her weight in an effort not to fidget, the way her eyes had flitted down to her lips for just a moment, and of course, how her voice had lost its velvety confidence.

“Some cake. Would you like some when it’s done?” She smiled warmly, her practiced look of innocence working its charm.

“ _Oh_. No thank you. I’m not much of a sweet tooth.” Pamela had already regained her composure, slipping back in her confident persona.

_Guess I’ll need to be more obvious._

Harley was one for astute observations. Pamela’s posture, enunciation, mannerisms and the tasteful furniture she owned gave away her wealthy background. She’d probably had to smile and wave her way through fancy balls as a teenager. She was obviously no stranger to hiding away her emotions…and her sexuality.

Pamela’s voice felt stern when she added. “Although, since you’re here I guess I should get this over with.”

Taking Harley’s puzzled expression as her cue, she continued. “I wanted to let you know that our shared walls are very thin,”

Harley’s breath hitched at the memory of what had happened earlier that day, and her eyes zeroed in on the one thing Pamela couldn’t hide: her blown-out pupils.

She was only half-listening as the taller woman explained how noisy she was on a regular basis and how she needed to tone it down. Her mind was buzzing with the thought that the crackling sexual tension she’d been feeling was undoubtedly mutual. She could tell that much from the moment they met and what she’d seen today had only confirmed her suspicions. So, she couldn’t understand why they were still there talking, when their mouths could be put to much more _productive_ uses.

The beautiful, amber-green eyes she’d been staring at narrowed at her in a slight frown, obviously noticing that she wasn’t paying attention.

She knew she should listen; she really did. But the _things_ this woman was doing to her. Why did her being angry and stern make her even hotter? It was intoxicating to just stand there and let herself be lectured. It wasn’t her fault that media had queer-coded female villains and women in positions of power. Honestly, she blamed Hollywood.

Pamela’s lips were a bit pouty now, and she craved to just pin her against the door and kiss her senseless, to smear that perfectly applied lipstick right off.

\---

It had taken her the trip to the kitchen to gather the courage to just _rip off the Band-Aid now_ and confront her neighbour while she was at her door. Her frustration, her anger and her request for less noise were perfectly reasonable. Pamela repeated this to herself as she desperately held on to her boiling anger, pointedly ignoring the very different type of heat that was taking hold of her, fast.

_Damn_. Why did things never go as she had planned?

Just as she’d told Selina, she’d gone home with the very mature plan of dealing with her problems tomorrow _._ First was a relaxing bath. With scented candles. And bubbles. Lots of bubbles. She hadn’t even taken the time to remove her makeup, sighing in relief as she dipped into the hot water.

Just as she’d felt the tension leave her shoulders in the comforting heat of her bathtub, she’d heard knocks at her door. She’d grudgingly and hastily patted herself dry with a towel and slipped on her bathrobe, her wet hair leaving a small trail behind her as she walked to her door.

She should’ve known Gaia was bent on making her life hell today. She’d brought the source of her torment literally at her door, looking as delectable as she had a few hours prior in those booty shorts. It was entertaining to watch Harley’s reaction to her state of undress and satisfying to observe her face as the gears turned in her head, knowing she’d figured it out hours ago, before her.

She was incredibly thankful she’d had time to process it privately. And when Harley _didn’t_ run away (like a certain someone), she was impressed, despite the blubbering (and admittedly very cute) mess she became when she’d connected the pieces. Her neighbour’s realisation saved her from having a _very_ uncomfortable conversation. 

When Harley’s sharp moans echoed in her mind at the thought, she was thankful the small blush that came to her cheeks was barely visible against her brown skin. After all, she was putting maximum effort in holding up her usual, collected and confident facade she always had in public. Keeping it professional. Or rather, neighbourly.

She’d held on when she thought Harley had called her “Sugar” in her sweet Gothamite accent. She’d held on despite the hungry eyes she could feel on her exposed skin. She’d held on despite how Harley’s muscles had flexed handsomely when she’d handed her the measuring cup.

But her facade somewhat cracked when Harley mischievously dropped an innuendo.

“Would you like some later?”

For just a second, sinful images flashed through her mind, unbidden. Harley in nothing but an apron, bent over her kitchen counter. Harley, pinning her against the door, lips latched onto her neck and her hand working between her thighs. Her blue eyes were boring into hers evenly, with an angelic smile that was just _so_ mismatched with her words.

“I-I’m sorry- what?”

“Some cake. Would you like some when it’s done?”

_Fuck_.

Thankfully she recovered quickly enough, but she had a gut feeling that Harley had seen right through her anyways. 

The small moment had given her a glimpse of another side of Harley.

She couldn’t figure her out. After a long afternoon of forcefully melding the neighbour and supermarket personas together, she just couldn’t grasp what type of person Harley was. She was like a walking contradiction, dangerous, and it made her heart beat faster. She couldn’t deny the very real attraction she had for the woman before her.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Selina’s rang in her head. 

_Just tell her to pipe the fuck down from now on and then invite her in._

She surprised herself with the level of restraint she was exercising. She _would_ love nothing more than to tug Harley in and wipe that smirk off her face with a deep kiss...Which she’d established was a terrible idea. But she _had_ made up her mind about confronting her. She steeled herself and sincerely hoped that this would solve the noise problem.

“Although, since you’re here I guess I should get this over with.”

She was so in her head about the whole thing, trying to choose the most appropriate words, controlling her tone of voice, that she didn’t immediately notice the unfocused look Harley was giving her. She worked on getting her point across in the best way possible, explaining how she should lower the volume of her music, be aware of the noise she made when working out, make efforts to be silent after 11pm…

_She’s not even listening._ She narrowed her eyes slightly in irritation.

After bending down to place the measuring cup on the floor, Harley’s eyes locked with hers and her tongue briefly poked out of her mouth, a flash of pink running over her top lip. Pamela was tempted to follow suit and explore that captivating mouth herself; consequences be damned. She lost her train of thought and trailed off in her monologue.

The silence immediately felt deafening. The tension had been steadily rising and now the air felt electric with it as they eyed each other with barely repressed lust.

Neither knew who breached the space between them first, but suddenly, _finally_ , their lips were interlocked, her hands cupping Harley’s soft cheeks. She whimpered into the kiss at the pleasant tingling sensation she felt in her neck when Harley’s fingers deliciously wove themselves into the red hair at the nape of her neck.

It felt so, _so good_ to give in. To just follow her instincts, social distancing measures be damned. Harley’s lips felt like pure magic as they moved against hers, nipping here and there, and she moved a hand from her cheek down to her hips, bringing their bodies closer together. The crop top granted her exhilarating access to Harley’s soft, bare skin. She revelled in the small moan Harley let out at the possessive gesture.

The smaller woman urged her backwards, pushing her into her front door and nestling herself perfectly against her body, legs deliciously intertwined together. Pamela’s head collided against the wooden surface, and she bit down on Harley’s lower lip.

The effect was instantaneous: Harley let out a choked sound from the back of her throat, the hands pulling on the red hair she’d been tenderly playing with. Her hips thrusted forward against hers, creating an intoxicating friction.

Pamela felt dizzy from the bruising kiss and wonderful heat coursing through her body, and she regretfully pulled away briefly for air. Panting, she didn’t get a single moment’s relief, Harley seamlessly switching her undivided attention to her neck.

Her lips, still so swollen and wet from kissing, moved down her neck sloppily. Pamela sighed prettily and closed her eyes in response, her fingers still dancing on Harley’s hips. When Harley reached the junction of her neck and shoulders, she swirled her tongue against the spot and lightly sucked at the light brown skin there. Pamela could feel herself go slick at the sensation, and she was glad for the leg between her thighs when her hips canted up for friction.

“D-don’t leave a mark-” She rasped, then cried out Harley’s name when she pressed her thigh higher against her centre. She could feel the other woman smirking against her skin.

_I’ll get her back for this…_

She was panting hard and her fingers were aimlessly caressing Harley’s hips, moving up, up towards the swell of her breasts. That seemed to get the blonde’s attention and she partially moved back to swiftly shed her crop top.

Pamela’s could feel her mouth water at the sight before her. Harley was something else.

She’d noticed she was athletic…but _damn_. She just wanted to explore every inch of her, memorize every dip, every freckle, every tattoo on her pale white skin. (And if in the back of her mind she noticed that alongside the tattoos, a handful of scars littered her skin, she filed that information for later.)

She didn’t take the time to fully appreciate the view in front of her with her eyes, opting instead to appreciate it by touch. Her right hand slid from Harley’s hip and down to her ass, shoving their hips and chests closer together, and the air was suddenly thick with both their moans. Her other hand quickly found Harley’s breasts, kneading them and barely brushing past her nipples, teasing her as her laboured breathing tickled the blonde’s ears.

Harley’s eyes had fluttered close and getting to see the bliss on her face in real life was not even close to what she’d pictured in her dreams. She wanted _more_. Wanted to see all the sounds and faces she could get her to make. She gave a tentative roll of her hips, and Harley let out a shaky, high-pitched whimper, her nails raking down her neck and to her shoulders.

“Ah! _Please-_ ”

Every noise was like music to her ears. Pamela could feel herself throbbing, felt lightheaded from want. She lightly tugged at Harley’s nipple, rolling it expertly between her thumb and index as both women continued to grind into each other desperately. Their panting filled the corridor and Harley was topless, her right hand trying to undo Pamela’s bathrobe, but they couldn’t care less, for they were completely engrossed in one another.

Both women felt like the weeks of frustration and isolation had been leading up to this exact moment and something as insignificant as public decency wasn’t going to stop them now. Pamela’s entire body was a tight coil of pure heat, and she was pretty sure her inner thighs were damp, and _not_ from her earlier bath.

When Pamela bent her head down and sucked on her pulse point, she felt Harley melt against her and murmur words of encouragement, lost in the harmonious rhythm of their hips. The blonde’s frantic fingers stuttered to a stop in their quest to undo the knot of her bathrobe, and Pamela’s own were still languidly teasing the breasts before her. She experimentally pinched a pink peak, and Harley’s resulting moan broke into a sob of pleasure.

“ _Yes_ , jus’ like that Pammie,”

Her blood froze in her veins and her body went completely still.

A man’s voice rang in her ears. “ _Just like that Pammie, such a good girl._ ”

She felt her stomach lurch terribly at the memory. Her heart was in her throat, her eyes widened with panic, and she barely registered Harley’s hands softly holding hers, concern-filled eyes searching hers.

Her body felt like stone, cold and stiff and heavy, and she clenched her eyes shut in a hopeless attempt to cast away the haunting images flashing through her mind’s eye.

\--

Harley had instantly noticed that her words had triggered something in Pamela, who’d suddenly went still and quiet against her. Her eyes flew open and she painfully recognized the haunted look of horror in those green eyes. She took one step back, into the corridor, the other woman’s arms tensely staying in the air where they had been resting on her skin just moments ago. In a split second she put her shirt back on and tentatively reached for Pamela’s hands.

“Pamela?”

When she didn’t react, instead scrunching her eyes close, Harley rubbed soothing circles on the back of both her hands and repeated her name, voice soft and reassuring.

Pamela’s eyes finally met hers, still dazed.

She sighed in relief and was going to put her PhD to good use, but then, inexplicably, the redhead just closed herself off completely. Her body language felt practiced and mechanical as she stepped back, exceedingly formal, and her voice was emotionless when she spoke.

“Sorry for that.”

Harley was ready to reassure her, tell her that there was nothing to apologize for and that she was ready to help in any way she can, but Pamela apparently meant something else.

“I didn’t mean to… jump you like that. We’re _neighbours_.” A beat. “I uh, I hope your cake will turn out well.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Harley’s stomach dropped, cold.

With a curt nod, Pamela closed her door and bid her good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *squeals* THEY FINALLY KISSED  
> Sorry for the little angsty detour, I want to explore these ladies' backstories a little more in this universe ;)  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I had a lot of fun writing it! If you did, leave me a kudo or a comment, these really make my day and motivate me to write more


	4. Not Staring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //Trigger warning for this chapter: mention of past abuse, and a panic attack//
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this new chapter of more useless sapphic pining cause it's definitely fun to imagine and bring to life <3  
> Thank you to all those who press that kudos button and comment it really *sparks joy* every time!

That night, neither of them slept well, both tossing and turning into the small hours of the morning, only to fall into restless sleep right before daybreak.

Pamela hadn’t let herself dwell too much on the trauma that had suddenly reared its ugly head, plaguing her with nightmares of what she’d survived in Seattle. She preferred to beat herself up over her ‘slip-up’ with Harley.

It was much easier to lie to herself about her feelings for her cute, kind, attentive (and _hot_ ) neighbour. Easier to dwell on her raw magnetism that just attracted Pamela like bees to honey. (And _boy_ did she want to taste that sweetness.) Easier to lie to herself about a freaky instant connection than to dwell on the words that had made her break out in cold sweat, made her want to rub her skin raw in a desperate attempt to feel _clean_ again.

_Just like that Pammie, such a good girl._

Cold, merciless eyes. A wicked grin. Sweaty palms on her skin. A flickering light. The artificial, chemical smell of a lab.

It felt dangerously easy to bury her fears and her pain. Yet, at the same time, she couldn’t shake off the awful anguish that settled deep in her chest, keeping her awake that night.

She’d naturally gotten up when her alarm would usually ring, early. _Too_ early. For a few minutes she almost felt normal, but then the memories of what had happened the previous evening came flooding back to her, and she groaned, turning into her pillow. Thankfully it was Sunday. _No work today_ , she thought with relief.

She couldn’t garner the strength to get up, opting to lay there a little longer. Just…five more minutes.

\---

Three hours later she cracked her eyes open blearily, disoriented, but _very well rested_.

_Huh._

Not letting the delay in her usual routine destabilize her, she elected to go through her daily tasks like any other day, the repetitive and familiar motions soothing her. After taking a long, hot shower, she walked towards her veranda, towards her plants (her _babies,_ she privately thought). She’d never felt so glad that she’d discovered the therapeutic effect of plants and pursued a career in biochemistry than she did now.

She got to do what she loved for a living. That was her proudest achievement. And no one could take that away from her.

In the early afternoon, Pamela started feeling that something was off. She couldn’t quite place it, and it grated her. There was just something _different_ about today. Her mind idly whirred in the background as she busied herself, lovingly tending to her plants one after the other.

It came to her in an unexpected way.

Her elbow accidentally pushed a metal container off of a table, and it clattered to the ground, loudly ringing in her ears. And then…

_Silence._

How had she missed it? By this hour, Harley would definitely have some loud pop music playing, the bass thrumming in the wall. But so far, she quickly recalled, she’d only heard a limited amount of noise, just regular sounds of someone cooking or walking around. The relative normalcy of such noises and her now increased tolerance for loud sounds had prevented her from realizing the sudden change.

She’d expected the silence to feel good. Like relief. But now, the quiet felt …odd. Almost eerie. She’d gotten used to Harley’s “lifestyle” somehow.

She almost couldn’t believe that Harley had _listened_ to her and had actually been considerate in her loudness today.

Pamela couldn’t stop the warm, fluttering feeling in her stomach as an image of her kind eyes and dazzling smile flashed in her mind’s eye.

She checked her watch.

_It’s almost three thirty…That’s when the workout noises would usually start._

Now, Pamela was a creature of habit. She knew this about herself, and knew that her entire day had been shifted forwards in time because she’d slept in. It would make sense that this lag would change things, like how the sun hit the veranda differently than it did when she usually tended to her plants.

And yet, she hadn’t anticipated bigger changes in her routine. She was caught completely unawares when, for the first time since she moved in, she saw movement in the corner of her eye from the opposite apartment’s veranda. She turned her head and there was Harley, back to her and dressed in a mouth-watering workout outfit.

_How have I never seen her workout before?_

The apartments’ twin verandas were separated by only three or four meters, so she’d been able to gaze into it in the past, the glass panes giving her a clear view of that small part of Harley’s apartment. It was often filled with workout gear, which (along with many other clues) is what had initially tricked her into thinking Harley was a buff, straight man. (And how Selina had _rejoiced_ when they’d found out the truth. She’d called her heteronormative and sexist, a delighted lilt in her voice.)

Selina was the furthest thing from her mind right now.

The flashy pink sports bra did not cover Harley’s shoulders and back, the rippling muscles extending seamlessly onto her arms marvellously. She could see them, stretched and tense as Harley tied her hair up into twin pigtails, and she gulped at the sight. Her mind immediately supplied memories of how that body had felt, pressed against hers…she could already feel her temperature rise.

The bottom part of the outfit was _sin incarnate_. She would have to either thank or murder whoever had invented yoga pants. Were it not for the small pocket on the side, Pamela could have easily believed that the garment was simply _painted_ on. It hugged Harley’s curves wickedly, from the firm roundness of her ass down to her thick thighs…

_Fuck_.

She really hated when Selina was right. She was frustrated on _so many levels_. Why didn’t she just, go over and find out if those pants _were_ painted on? Or find out how nice those muscles would feel under her inquisitive fingers. How exquisite that back would look after she’d raked her nails over it in ecstasy?

Across two panes of glass, a few meters away, Harley took hold of a kettlebell and started doing squats, her taut muscles taunting Pamela from afar.

Pamela’s thighs unconsciously clenched at the memory of those legs interlocked with her own, hips grinding and creating a delicious friction. She briefly closed her eyes and basked in the lovely tingling feeling that crept up her spine.

_SMASH._

Oh! Shit. _No no no._

She’d been so distracted that she’d let the potted plant she’d been holding fall to the floor. She didn’t dare look back at Harley to check if she’d heard or noticed her, entirely focused on saving her baby. She kneeled on the floor, carefully picking out the big shards in one hand and putting them away.

She couldn’t let herself be distracted like this, she thought to herself as she carefully retrieved the plant out from the scattered earth to repot it immediately.

\-----

Harley had woken up unrested and frustrated. All night she’d dreamt of beautiful red hair, breathy moans and creamy brown skin moving sensually against hers.

And then reality had settled back in like a bucket of cold water, reminding her how the previous night had abruptly ended.

She achingly remembered the pained, reserved look in Pamela’s eyes. Oh, how she’d wanted to hold her close and rub soothing circles on her back, tell her that everything would be okay. She sincerely hoped that it was just her empathic nature, and not an occupational hazard, because she so _deeply_ wanted to help her neighbour, make all her worries ebb away.

It was odd. Even by her standards. By all means, she barely knew Pamela…but at the same time, it felt _right_. As natural as breathing.

When she was little, she’d dreamt of finding her soulmate one day, fantasizing for hours about the concept of there being someone, out there, that was _meant_ _for her._

Hers.

Someone who wouldn’t leave her behind. Someone who’d be there for her no matter what.

It had taken the worst kind of experience for her to let go of that childish dream, her fantasy of infallible love.

She didn’t believe in soulmates anymore. Not after Jack. But if she did, she guessed that it would kind of feel like this. There were little other explanations for the sheer power of the attraction she felt towards Pamela.

The woman was like a drug. Harley couldn’t get enough of what it felt like to be in her presence.

On one hand, she made her feel at ease, peaceful. Like she was where she was supposed to be. (Which was quite something for someone who had never been able to sit still her entire life.) The simple, natural pull in itself was addicting, like a cool breeze rolling on your skin in the summer heat. You could only relish in it and hope for it to never stop.

On the other hand, there was also this sizzling anticipation when their eyes would meet, making her hairs stand on edge and heat pulse through her body. That too was addictive, the fire, the passion that was slowly gnawing at herself control and her sanity. Pamela was all she could think about, was all she _wanted_ to think about.

Based off their interactions, Harley had insightfully started to grasp her neighbour’s character. Whip-smart, proud, and based off her presumably wealthy upbringing, had mommy issues. Or daddy issues. Or both.

_You’re one to talk_. She jokingly took a stab at herself.

Pamela seemed like a “lone wolf” type of person that didn’t let people in easily. But she also had a courteous, reserved kindness, a well-hidden compassionate nature. She was sure of it.

What Harley found the most intriguing was the carefully calculated, uptight persona that she wore…Harley wanted nothing more than to press her buttons, tease her, get her to let loose and lose that persona. She wanted to see her smile, wanted to hear her laugh.

But Pamela had clearly shown that she didn’t want to see her, despite the mutual attraction. She’d clearly stated that what had happened was a mistake. So, she didn’t go knocking on her door. No matter how much she wanted to see her again.

Even though Harley knew that there was something else there. She’d know that look anywhere. It had almost been like looking in a mirror.

Instead, Harley did what was within her power. She put all her effort into being a good, quiet neighbour. She didn’t blast her usual music. She didn’t watch her favourite cartoons. She was careful in the way she walked, in the noise she made when she cooked. And it only reminded her of why she liked having constant background noise in the first place.

She didn’t like silence because it put her on edge. Made her strain her ears whenever she heard something rattle or creak. Made her look over her shoulder jerkily, made her gaze at her door again and again, her body tense and ready to fight.

She had to channel her restless, paranoid energy into _something_. And after yesterday, baking was out of the question. She changed into her workout clothes and walked over to the edge of her living room near her veranda, her mind already going through the reps she would do.

Breathe in, breathe _out_.

She could feel some of the tension leave her shoulders already. Or was it placebo?

She started with her usual stretching, eyes closed as she loosened her joints and warmed up her muscles. Even though she was trying to clear her head in a quasi-meditation, her thoughts inevitably strayed to Pamela. And like a circus ringmaster with their lions, she repeatedly reigned them back in, snapping herself back to a state of mindfulness.

After a few minutes, with one final roll of her neck, she cracked open her eyes and vaguely saw movement at the corner of her eye. Seeking said movement, she took a step into her veranda and _there she was_.

Pam.

She was facing away from her, watering her plants, but Harley could still make out the little smile on her face. Her brown skin was golden under the shining sun, her red hair striking in its glow.

She was wearing pants this time (pants!). Harley’s eyelids briefly fluttered in a curious attempt to shoo away thoughts of Pamela’s shapely thighs, bare from the shortness of her bathrobe. She could still remember how soft they’d felt against her own, the needy cants of Pamela’s hips making them brush together over and over with her own.

Across the panes of glass and the surprisingly unfoggy Gotham air, Pamela was tenderly tending to the countless plants and flowers of her veranda. Her features were softened by the affectionate and serene look she was wearing, and Harley felt her heart flutter and her face warm at the sight. She didn’t even try to fight the stupid grin off her face, she didn’t care. She knew she was in deep.

She saw and heard when Pamela’s elbow nudged some metallic object off a ledge, the clattering sound slightly muffled by the distance and the wall.

She impulsively turned around, her back directly facing Pamela’s veranda. She didn’t want to get caught staring.

Although…she could feel the heat of Pamela’s gaze on her skin. The hairs on her neck tingled as she became overly self-aware. She knew the redhead was staring at her, but she had to act like she’d been working out this whole time.

Throwing her thoughts to the wind, she nervously tied her hair up into her signature pigtails, then grabbed a kettlebell and started her squat routine. The familiar weight in her hands grounded her and her mind pleasantly blanked as she lost herself in the motions.

SMASH

Harley barely managed to _not_ reflexively twist around to see the source of the noise. Only when her gut told her it was safe to look did she turn around, peeking into Pamela’s veranda.

She was kneeling on the floor, cautiously collecting the pieces of a broken pot.

The fretful yet sweet concerned look on her face started up the butterflies in Harley’s stomach again, and she brought her index to her lips, shushing it.

Then it occurred to her.

_Oh, wait. Butterflies don’t make noise._ She resisted the urge to smack her forehead. _…Still. Stop it down there. We can’t keep on mooning over our neighbour like some lovesick puppy._

\----

In the end she decided to work out in her bedroom.

Panting and sweaty, lying down on the floor, she gladly welcomed the small rush of post-workout endorphins. After showering she plopped down on her sofa, connected her headphones to the TV, and let herself be distracted for a few hours. Her favourite series should take her mind off of things.

Except it _didn’t_. She could still numbly feel her buzzing mind, restless and uneasy in the background. She could still feel a cold, heavy weight in her stomach, and an endless need to fidget.

In her heart, she knew she should call Babs or Joan at this point. Usually, they scheduled calls nearly every other day, but for some reason she’d been making excuses, had been avoiding their calls. She didn’t feel up to explaining her situation right now.

A part of her wanted to keep this to herself, wanted to keep this…thing with Pamela private. It felt like speaking it aloud would break the spell, and her neighbour would suddenly disappear without her getting the chance to patch things up.

The logical, lucid part of her knew she should _definitely_ talk to Joan about her mental health. Her old friend from med school would definitely have some good insight and advice for her…Because she definitely wasn’t doing fine.

She was going slightly mad. At first it had only been the lockdown. Like a lion pacing in a cage, she felt trapped. Trapped in an apartment full of bad memories.

But today felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back. The unusual silence in her apartment had made her keenly aware of how _not okay_ she was. How close to the edge she’d been teetering. She couldn’t shake off this itching feeling in her spine, the paranoid need to look at her door every so often.

She would sometimes hear his awful laugh.

Feel his tight, painful grip on her arm.

Would remember how the flurry of kicks would rain down on her as she curled up on the floor, waiting for it to be all over, hoping, praying that the earth would open and swallow her whole so that this nightmare would just _end._

Her eyes felt warm as tears welled up behind her eyelids. When had she closed them?

She snapped her eyes open. _Shit. Stop spiralling Harls._ Her breath was quickening, shallow. It felt like pins and needles were assaulting her hands, slowly going up her forearms.

Sensing the beginning of a panic attack, she didn’t even get the time to try and fight it off, because all of a sudden, everything was pitch black.

_A power outage?_

She felt a wet warmth pouring down her cheeks as the prickling feeling in her hands spread to her face. Her breathing was erratic and way too fast, and her instincts kicked in.

_Five things I can see…_

_FUCK. I can’t see anything. I can’t even go to the kitchen to bite a lemon and ground myself because there’s **no fucking light**._

Her whole face felt numb. Her chest was heaving.

Completely in survival mode, she found herself tentatively walking towards her door, her feet dragging against the floor in short bursts, her arms held out in front of her.

She miraculously found the handle of her door and stepped into the corridor. There, the soft glow of the emergency exit lights was enough for her to make out Pamela’s door.

Her quick, hyperventilating inhales came out like hiccups, and her shaky hand knocked on the door.

The half minute it took for her neighbour to reach her door in the dark felt like an eternity. The door was slowly pried open, and Pamela’s surprised face, greenish in the emergency lighting’s glow, met her own.

“Harley?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3 !!! Tell me what you think in the comments and don't hesitate to smash that kudos button ;)


	5. Opening up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are ready for all this hurt/comfort I'm throwing at you today :p  
> Also I'm having fun sprinkling in some other DC characters in the story.  
> Thank you all for all the lovely comments!
> 
> //TW for mention of rape//

She could get over this crush. Really, she could. If her mind was capable of easily achieving a doctorate, she should be able to figure out a way to re-establish normal relations with her neighbour, right?

Even though said neighbour could make her insides melt by just cracking a smile in her direction…And that wasn’t even taking into account how the rest of Harley made her feel, nor the fresh memories of what it felt like to have her pressed against her intimately.

Logically, a part of her was painfully aware she was completely in denial about her attraction and feelings towards Harley. She wasn’t _completely_ obtuse to her own emotions. She just was very good at compartmentalizing herself: she’d had years of practice with her controlling, homophobic and abusive mother.

She thankfully managed to save the small Venus flytrap that she’d dropped earlier in her unfortunate…distraction. No more plant-handling for today. She didn’t want to chance it, for their safety and hers.

Her phone started ringing, snapping her out of her thoughts. She fished her phone out of her back pocket and picked up as soon as she saw the caller ID on her screen. She started walking to her bedroom, having the forethought to prevent any awkward situation wherein her neighbour would overhear her phone conversation through the wall (now that she was being quiet).

“Hey Selina.”

“Good afternoon, kitten.”

She felt herself soften at the term of endearment, no matter how many times she heard it. After exchanging formalities, Selina carried on. “I have some juicy news today.”

“Is that why you called me? Do tell.” She settled comfortably on her bed.

“Yes, well, I thought you more than anyone would rejoice. After all, you never were a big fan of Bruce.”

“Did he finally die, silently crushed in the night by his oversized ego?”

Selina couldn’t supress a small snicker at her friend’s usual dry humour.

Pamela took that as encouragement and pressed her luck. “Or did his elderly male nanny finally leave him, and he died of starvation because he didn’t even know how to make toast?”

“Ouch. Someone’s salty today. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about your little situation either, Doctor Isley.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. _So,_ ” She drawled out. “What happened with Bruce? The suspense is _positively_ killing me.” She infused her words with sarcasm.

“Oh, you know how I love my theatrics.” Selina paused for effect. “We’re _done_. For good this time.”

Pamela made a face at that, sceptical, and Selina started again, knowing exactly what her friend’s silence entailed.

“I know I’ve said this before, kitten, but this time is different. I’ve set my sights on someone _better_.”

“How did you even find ‘someone better’ in the middle of quarantine, Selina?”

“I simply took a page from your book.”

Pamela could feel where this was going. “Selina, what did you do.” She sighed.

“Nothing you wouldn’t do. Do you remember who owns the penthouse adjacent to mine?”

Pamela racked her brain. She remembered that it was someone they’d also grown up with but had rarely seen, only popping up in Gotham a couple of times a year. Some rich socialite, an army kid. What was her name again?

“ _Katherine_?”

“ _Kate_. Kate Kane.” Selina corrected her. “Yes. Turns out she just moved back to Gotham.”

“Well if you wanted a well-bred, redheaded lesbian you just had to ask, Selina.”

“In your dreams, Pamela.”

“So, what did you do to the _Batwoman_?” She laughed as she used the nickname Kate had earned as a star baseball player in high school.

“I didn’t even have to _do_ anything. She came to my door after she flew in yesterday, and-“

Pamela jumped in. “Yep. Nope. Stop right there. I can guess what happened. _Thank you_. I’m still traumatised with cursed, detailed knowledge about Bruce so please spare my ability to look Kate in the eyes?”

“Your loss. Kate is an absolute _beefcake_. I swear to god if you’d seen her arms- I mean I know she was in the army but I didn’t think she’d have those _guns_ -“

“Please stop talking.”

Selina huffed. “ _Fine._ ” She seamlessly redirected the conversation. “Did you follow through and confront your neighbour like you’d planned?”

Pamela couldn’t bring herself to break the awkward silence that question created. Tantalizing images of Harley’s bared, toned body flooded right back. It had been _some_ form of confrontation, all right. It had confronted her with how she’s not such a badass antisocial bitch after all, given how susceptible she was to the blonde’s feminine wiles. She idly ran her thumb across her index, half-remembering the addicting feel of Harley’s warm, soft skin against hers. The taste of her lips. The soft moans echoing in the hall. Her cheeks warmed at the memories.

Like a hound smelling blood, Selina’s voice dripped with mirth when she dropped the million-dollar question. “You already fucked her, didn’t you?”

Pamela couldn’t have stopped her knee-jerk reaction if she tried. “ _No!_ Of course not, who do you take me for?”

One, two, three seconds passed.

“I mean, _technically_ , no.” She conceded.

Selina let out an uncharacteristic guffaw. “ _Technically_?”

“We, um, made out quite heavily in my doorway yesterday.” She tried not to sound as bashful about it as she felt. She cleared her throat, deciding to own it. “She came to borrow some sugar and discovered I was her neighbour. I _did_ confront her about the noise, I’m a woman of my word.”

“And?”

“And she’s been respectfully quiet today.”

“Not that, you daft dyke. _How was it_?”

She didn’t know why but talking to Selina seemed to always get the truth out of her. Even when she wouldn’t admit things to herself, she’d admit them to her best friend.

“Amazing.”

She could almost feel the self-satisfied smirk Selina was probably wearing and rolled her eyes. “Although unlike you, I’m not going to force you to listen to a play by play description of what it was like- “

Selina let out a sound of disappointment.

“-But I fucked it all up anyways.”

“What happened?”

Her voice caught in her throat slightly. “I-I got triggered, froze up. And then I basically told her I wasn’t interested.”

Fuck. She’d really made a mistake. One more regret to add to her long list. Would she ever get over what had happened in Seattle? Would he always loom over her life like this? Robbing her of her normalcy?

“Pam?”

She let out a noncommittal noise, still lost in her negativity.

As agile as a cat, Selina managed to wedge through her spiralling thoughts. “Pam it wasn’t- it _isn’t_ your fault. What happened to you doesn’t define you as a person… Please don’t forget I’m always here for you.” Selina’s voice was full of warmth, supportive, and somehow not filled with pity, which Pamela appreciated greatly.

“And I still think you should go for it. Talk to her. Meeting someone and feeling that instant type of connection is rare. Don’t let your big brain get in the way.”

“Thanks Selina. That’s sweet.” She cracked a little smile to herself. “Even though I know it’s just cause you’re always thirsty for dirty little details.” She couldn’t resist cracking a joke to diffuse the tension.

“ _That_ , and I want you to finally get laid. And who knows, get a girlfriend out of this. Quarantine would be better for you if you weren't alone. You have my personal guarantee, Kate definitely-“

“And you _had_ to go and ruin the moment.”

The friends chatted for the better part of an hour, and Pamela felt a peace of mind she hadn’t in a long time.

After hanging up, she walked into her living room, switching on the light. The sun had recently set, only leaving a soft gradient glow in the sky. She reheated some leftovers and brought them back from the kitchen, eating them as she gazed at the beautiful orange pink that was slowly fading into the darkest of blues.

She’d just gulped down the last of her plate when, in the blink of an eye, she was engulfed in darkness. Still facing the big glass panes of her veranda, she saw the rest of the city swiftly power down, like a black wave flooding Gotham.

_A blackout?_

Quick on her feet, she used her phone as a flashlight to find matches to light her candles. She carefully used four or five of on the ones scattered across her living room, unintentionally creating a rather cosy atmosphere.

She nearly burned herself when she heard a knock at her door. She walked towards it, getting more cautious as she neared it. She could hear the sounds of someone’s irregular breathing on the other side.

She was only partially surprised to see Harley’s tear-stricken face when she opened the door (After all, who else could it have been?).

“Harley?’

A quick once-over of her neighbour’s hyperventilating, heaving chest and unfocused eyes told her all she needed to know. In a split second, she was aware that Harley was in the midst of a nasty panic attack, and immediately she felt overwhelmed with a rush of heartfelt compassion and sympathy.

She quickly ushered the trembling blonde into her apartment, noticing how her tense shoulders relaxed a bit once she stepped out of the dark corridor and into the soft lighting of her apartment.

She sat them both down on the couch and talked her through the panic attack, guiding her through long inhales and exhales. She longed to hold the other woman close, in her arms. She longed to feel her pressed against her chest, to engulf her in warmth and security, to absorb all the pain away from her. But she couldn’t. Instead she did what she could. She massaged Harley’s hands with her own, tried to ground her with reassuring words, and kept up the breathing exercises.

“Shhh, everything is okay. Look into my eyes. You’re fine. You’re good. You’re safe here with me.”

Harley’s alarmed eyes looked up and met hers, and she felt that pull in her stomach again. The fear in her blue eyes slowly but surely melted away as the women breathed in and out, slowly and in unison, and soon enough, Harley wasn’t shivering.

Time seemed to stretch as they kept on gazing in each other’s eyes, hands clasped together.

Pamela was overwhelmed with this sense of _rightness_. She didn’t want to let go, completely lost in the moment. The light from the candles was softly flickering across Harley’s exquisite features.

It felt _intimate_.

The moment was interrupted by a loud rumble from Harley’s stomach, and Pamela let out a laugh, her usual, guarded self having faded away in her haste to tend to the panic attack.

She stood up, regretfully dropping the blonde’s hands. “I have some leftover veggie lasagne, if you’d like.”

Harley smiled sheepishly up at her. “I’d love some.”

\---

Just minutes ago, she had been drowning. Every gasp of air had felt like it uselessly went through her, as if her lungs were made of mesh. Her mind had been racing, trudging deep into traumatic memories of her old life with Jack. She’d instinctively sought out Pamela’s help when the unfortunate series of events that had triggered her panic attack in the first place had prevented her from calming herself with her usual techniques.

And now she felt like a castaway. In a good way. Her body felt ragged, tired out from the panic attack, her chest still felt a little tight. Her mind felt fuzzy from the hyperventilation. But it was okay, because she was safe and ashore now.

Pamela had been her saving grace, anchoring her back to the world, and Harley had drunk her soothing words like a parched man in a desert, had helplessly and appreciatively let Pamela lead her breathing back to a normal pace.

She was starting to get the feeling back in her fingers, too. But that sensation was small in comparison to the warm tingly feeling she was feeling in her chest at the beautiful sight of Pamela’s candlelit face. Her amber green eyes felt like they were boring into her soul, and she craved to reach up and cup her cheek and bring their lips into a chaste, delicate kiss.

Of course, her dumb stomach had to go and ruin the moment for her.

But she was still thankful. Now she had an excuse to spend more time with the dreamlike woman she felt so attracted to.

She could hear Pamela moving about in the kitchen, and as she waited, she took in her barely lit surroundings.

It was odd to see the veranda from this side. The greenhouse looked even more impressive up close, and not for the first time she wondered what she did for a living, and if it had to do with all those plants.

She’d briefly caught a peek of Pamela’s well-furnished living room yesterday, but it was definitely different suddenly being _in it_. She was sitting sideways on a sleek yet comfortable pine green sofa, taking in the matching lounge chairs, soft throw pillows and the beautiful wooden coffee table.

The apartment’s setup mirrored her own, so it felt odd that all the rooms she was used to having on her left side were now on her right.

Pamela broke her line of thought as she returned from the kitchen holding a plate of lasagne and a fork. She looked apologetic as she handed it to her and sat back down with her on the couch.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t heat it up, there’s still no power…I hope it’ll come back on soon or all the food will be spoiled.”

“It’s all right, I ain’t picky and lasagne tastes just as good cold.”

Filled with appreciation for Pamela, she added. “And thank you. Not jus’ for this, for… _everythin’_.” Harley was starting to feel a little self-conscious now that the panic had subsided. Had she been in her right mind she never would’ve intruded on her neighbour like this.

“It was no trouble at all, I’m glad I could help.” Pamela’s hand gave her knee a reassuring squeeze. Harley couldn’t suppress a smile; she felt all warm from the kind look on her neighbour’s face.

She started eating the lasagne, sensing she would probably embarrass herself and say something dumb if she didn’t busy her mouth. And of course, it was delicious. She let out a little hum of contentment and told her host so.

“Thanks, I made it myself.”

She practically wolfed the whole thing down, and gently placed the plate on the coffee table when she’d finished. She shimmied her butt backwards to make herself more comfortable in the couch and settled her back against the armrest, legs crossed.

She shyly broke the silence. “So, um, I’m a little bit embarrassed. Ya see, I’m a psychotherapist so I shoulda been able to handle that myself.”

“No need to feel embarrassed, I’m a botanist and I dropped a plant today.”

Harley could tell that Pamela was doing her best to make her feel comfortable, diffuse the tension, and her stomach fluttered a bit. And she knew it wasn’t a lie, she’d seen it happen. She grinned. “That’s nice of ya to say.”

“Are you feeling better? Is there anything else you need?”

The genuine concern on Pamela’s face made the back of her eyes feel warm again, the familiar prickling feeling of oncoming tears returning. Her throat tightened a bit as she replied. “I do feel better. I’m sorry I dropped in on ya like that,”

“It’s no problem at all.” Pamela cut off Harley’s apology. “We’re living through hard times, and we’re only human. I can’t imagine how scary it must’ve been to go through a panic attack alone like that, in the dark.”

Pamela looked very thoughtful for a moment, eyes pointedly looking away from Harley. When she spoke again her voice was low and gentle. “And if I’m being completely honest, I should be the one apologising here.”

Harley’s brows scrunched up; her whole face perplexed.

Pamela’s eyes zeroed back in on hers, and her voice dripped with sincerity as she went on. “I’m sorry about what happened yesterday.”

Harley felt like she’d been punched in the gut at the reminder. Of course. Of course Pamela would reassert her boundaries and remind her that she didn’t want to be anything more than cordial neighbours. Who’d want to be friends (or more) with someone like her anyways. She was just damaged goods, that's what Jack always used to say.

But Pamela kept on going. “I’m sorry I froze up like that and was so rude to you.”

Harley’s hands went up reflexively. “No! It’s all right, I mean I practically _jumped_ ya so if anythin’… “. She hoped Pamela couldn’t see how deeply she was blushing right now. Oh god this was embarrassing. She needed to stop rambling. Please stop rambling, Harls.

She got her wish when Pamela cut her off. “We _both_ ‘jumped’ each other so really, don’t apologize. The reason I stopped is…well, I was triggered.” Her voice almost became a whisper at the end of her sentence.

Well that shut her up. She felt a flicker of hope rekindle in her chest, but also a deep sadness as she remembered the haunted look Pamela wore last night. ( _Was that really yesterday? It felt like weeks ago._ ) She’d painfully recognized that look, one she’d seen reflected in her mirror so many times as she applied makeup on her bruises in the morning.

Pamela let out a deep sigh before commencing her story, and Harley drank in every word with an impassable face.

She learned that Pamela had moved to Seattle to study her life’s passion: botany and biochemistry. At first everything had been fine. She shone intellectually, surpassing all the others in her classes. Near the end of her PhD’s final year, however, something went terribly wrong. Her teacher and supervisor, Jason Woodrue, took advantage of Pamela’s admiration for his work. He made her stay after hours under the pretext of showing her something for her thesis. He brought her to his lab and brutally raped her, knowing no one would come to help her at that time of night.

Harley could feel her blood boil and her fists clench, overpowered by a sudden need to punch this man, this _Professor Woodrue_. Her shoulders tensed even more when she learned that the university decided to protect this man rather than its student, pressuring Pamela to not press charges, threatening to rob her of her doctorate.

Pamela bravely went on, and Harley could tell from experience that the words were probably surging to her mouth, unstoppable as a waterfall crashing down. She could sense the relief the woman was feeling at sharing this intimate part of her. Pamela told her she’d naturally sought professional help and had tried to move on but working and living in the same city as him proved intolerable, especially since they shared a specialized field of work. So, she’d moved back to Gotham, and the rest was history.

Harley could feel a wet warmth slowly sliding down her cheek and realized she was crying. Pamela’s head was slightly bowed, she was staring at her fidgeting hands.

Unable to stop herself any longer, Harley bridged the distance between them and cradled Pamela’s body in her arms, failing to find words that could express the grief and sympathy she felt for the redhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AaaaAAAH wHAt wiLL hAPPen nExT? No one knows, least of all the author, she's never written a multichapter before! (comment if you catch this reference haha)  
> Kudos and comments very welcome, have a lovely sunday!


	6. Rough morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's a bit shorter this week but just as sweet ;)  
> I hope you guys like the spicy mix of fluff, angst and smut that I cook up haha  
> (also, i am all about those tropes, if you haven't noticed yet)

Pamela was having the best dream.

She was curled up on her couch, Harley holding her in her arms from behind as they watched a movie, huddled together under a soft blanket. Light flickered on their faces from the flashing screen, and she sighed happily, melting into the cosy embrace. She didn’t question the domesticity of the scene, nor the comfortable familiarity she and her neighbour shared. It seemed like an evidence that they were wrapped up in each other like this, barely concentrating on some seaside period lesbian drama, revelling in the other’s soothing presence. Harley’s warm lips connected with her neck as she nuzzled her from behind, and Pamela arched into it, giving the blonde better access.

“ _Harls_ …”

The scene shifted and they were on her bed. She was pinning down a devilishly grinning Harley with heavy-hooded eyes, her hair spread out around her head like an angel’s halo. The contradicting imagery made her let out a small, breathy chuckle and she captured the soft lips beneath her, sweetly pressing their bodies flush against each other.

Their clothes mysteriously disappeared, and her breath hitched at the overwhelming _softness_ of it all, of having that much of Harley bared and nearly melded to her. Harley’s hips needily canted up against hers and they both moaned, breaking the kiss. Dazed, Pamela wet her lips and moved down, peppering Harley’s skin with open-mouthed kisses, leaving marks on her neck, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs…Throughout the gloriously tortuous process, Harley shamelessly vocalized her pleasure, rambling, pleading, whispering the filthiest things Pamela had ever heard, which only spurred her on, made her body burn with need. Fighting the urge to shove one of her hands between her legs and give herself what she desperately needed, Pam simply threw herself harder into the task at hand. She splayed one hand on the soft curve of Harley’s lower stomach and the other gripped her right thigh, spreading her out beautifully before her hungry eyes.

“Pam, _please_ , please, just fuck me with your tongue- I- ah!”

Like a food critic savouring a rare delicacy, Pamela’s eyelids dropped close and she hummed as her tongue took the first, long, exploratory lick of Harley. Oh, how she had _missed_ this. She delved into the wet heat with abandon. She loved the salty sweetness of it, the unrestrained noises of pleasure that met her ears, the tense hands grasping at her hair and the sheets, the crescendo of Harley’s voice as she begged, urged her to just touch her where she needed it most. She gleefully lapped up Harley’s juices, ignoring the sharper pulls of her hair and fighting off a smug smirk.

When she finally granted her lover’s wish, her mouth moved upwards, giving its undivided attention to the small bundle of nerves lying there, right hand awkwardly replacing her tongue. As she suckled and flicked her tongue against Harley’s clit, fingers pumping and curling in a delicious rhythm, Harley’s voice seemed to die out, like the wind had been knocked out of her. Her back arched off the bed like a bow, and the thighs encasing Pamela’s head tensed up. She was on the precipice; it would only take a few seconds more-

Pamela’s eyes jerked open, then immediately narrowed, the light assaulting her senses.

_Where the fuck…_

She blearily took in her surroundings. She was in her living room, on her couch. Or rather on _Harley._ Her body was mostly draped on top of her peacefully sleeping neighbour, their legs comfortably tangled under the sofa’s quilt cover. How the hell had they not fallen off?

Memories of last night rushed back to her. A panicked, crying Harley in the midst of a blackout. Candlelit confessions. Holding each other close as sobs racked through them, tears staining both of their faces. She didn’t know whether she should revel in the relief she felt from having opened up, or give in to the ingrained, fearful shame of letting herself be vulnerable.

She didn’t have to choose either of those because instead, she was suddenly hit with the mortifying realization that she’d had a sex dream about the person innocently sleeping partially under her. _Fuck_.

She craned her neck upwards to check if Harley was still sleeping. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the sight that met her. Harley was absolutely _adorable_. Her hair was a mess, tousled, and her face looked almost ethereal in the light glow of the sun. From the proximity she could make out small, rare freckles on her pale cheeks. A little trickle of drool completed the scene in a way that simply tugged on her heartstrings.

She didn’t know how Harley had managed to immerse herself into her life (and her heart) so naturally. It was like she’d walked up to her walls and instead of being blocked, she simply cartwheeled around them.

Pamela only trusted two people in this life: Selina and herself. And yet. _And yet_ , Harley had gotten her to open up so effortlessly. It had felt good to share her trauma, to let everything out in the open, to fall asleep in her arms. It had also felt good to be there for Harley. Instinctive. She had an inkling of the cause of Harley’s panic attack, a vague hypothesis based off the barely faded scars she’d seen on her skin, the unfocused look in her eyes. But she really hoped she was wrong. More than anything she hoped that Harley was simply afraid of the dark.

Her mouth felt parched and she could feel her stomach starting to wake up. Slowly, very carefully, she extricated herself from Harley’s sleeping form, mindful to keep the blanket over her body. She silently tiptoed away from the living room and into the room. She had to change out of yesterday’s clothes and into something more comfortable. Once changed, she made her way to the kitchen.

After checking the fridge, she was relieved to see that the power was back on (the food didn’t seem to have been spoiled). The power outage must have ended shortly after they fell asleep. Staring at all that food gave her a sudden urge to cook up a nice breakfast for Harley, so she put on her apron and got to work.

\---

Harley’s dream started out well enough.

She dreamt she was comfortably wrapped up in a sea of red hair, hair that smelled delightfully good, smelled of _home_. It was also super soft, so she tugged the hair closer, wrapping herself up more in it like a blanket. She looked up, and there was a giant Pam smiling down at her, a twinkle in her eye. She smiled back.

Vines sprouted out of nowhere, wrapping around her waist and hoisting her up. They gently laid her down in the giant Pamela’s cupped hands. She sat down, cross-legged, and looked up in awe. It felt really weird, sitting on a warm, fleshy surface, she could feel the strong rhythm of Pam’s heart through her skin. She liked it.

Suddenly Harley was just as big as Pam. She couldn’t stop her hands from reaching out to cup her face tenderly. She brought their faces together in a loving kiss, brushed her thumbs against her lovely cheeks, gazed into her eyes. She kissed her again, deeper, sloppier this time, and their bodies ground together, the familiar weight of it setting her whole body abuzz.

But then Pam was gone. She was gone and Harley was by herself, in the dark. She didn’t want to be alone. A trapdoor opened beneath her feet and she was falling, deep into the abyss.

She tried to fight it, reaching out into the nothingness, desperately trying to hold on to something, anything. But there was nothing there. The only constant was the cold weight of the lightless space around her, her limbs flailing as she fell and fell.

She felt an alarm going off in her head as a laughter reached her ears. It started low, distant, but it very quickly enveloped her, assaulting her from all sides. It was Jack’s laugh. His oily, maniacal laugh. Her body retreated on itself, she wrapped her arms around her legs, hair still whooshing upwards as her never-ending fall went on. She cracked an eye open, expecting darkness, but a thousand eyes returned her gaze from the nothingness.

The eyes shared his likeness, so she shut her eyes and held her knees closer to her chest.

_Go away!_

She sat up sharply, panting, kicking off the blanket.

_Where the fuck am I?_

She was still in that trance-like state one gets from particularly vivid dreams, trying to grasp what was real and what wasn’t. Disoriented, she took in her surroundings and it suddenly clicked.

_I’m in Pam’s living room…right._ _Fuck, did she leave?_ _Did I scare her away?_

She was mechanically trying to calm her drumming heart, taking in deep breaths through her nose, but she was still a bit raw from last night’s episode.

Thankfully, that’s when Pamela stepped back into the room, the mere sight of her acting like a balm on Harley’s battered heart. Harley’s natural reaction was once again to moon over how gorgeous she was. And then she saw it.

_Oh, fuck me._

How could she survive such a woman? Pamela was too much for her little gay heart. She was wearing a _flower-print_ _apron_ and was bringing two perfect breakfasts. The wonderful smell drafted up to her nose and her eyes fluttered close as she breathed it in slowly, content. Pamela handed her one plate and sat next to her on the couch.

“Hungry?”

“You have _no idea_.” Harley replied, mouth already salivating at the sight of the pancakes, fruit and scrambled eggs.

They both savoured their breakfast in a comfortable silence. Harley felt like the food and Pamela’s presence had washed away all the fearfulness her nightmare had brought. She looked over and saw that Pamela’s brow was crinkling a bit, she was deep in thought.

“Is there somethin’ ya wanna say?” She said between mouthfuls.

Pamela turned to face her. “Yes… but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Harley appreciated Pam’s discretion and could easily guess what she was thinking about…and she did want to tell her. She didn’t know if she was ready yet though. “I don’t blame ya for wantin’ to know why I came here last night…”

“You don’t have to tell me anything-“

“No, I wanna. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me, Red.”

“Red?” Pamela cocked her head.

Harley chuckled. “Ah, I like giving nicknames to the folks I like. Can I call ya Red?”

“Sure.” Pamela gave her a kind smile. “For my hair, I presume?”

Harley nodded. “As I was sayin’, I can explain a bit of why I uh, went nuts yesterday.”

Pamela was staring back at her patiently, and she felt the courage grow in her. Last night, Pam had been so honest, and trusting, and had shared such an intimate part of herself with her. Harley wanted to reciprocate, show her that she trusted her too. So, she said what she could.

“The lockdown hasn’t been easy for any of us, and yesterday just…pushed me over the edge.” She struggled to find her words; her hands fidgeted a bit. “For me, background noise is like a copin’ mechanism. And yesterday, I tried real hard to not disturb ya.”

Pamela’s eyes were sad and sympathetic, and her body language indicated she was holding herself back from interrupting.

Harley went on. “So uh, what happened was…I underestimated the toll isolation had had on my mental health. I, uh, got triggered way too easily. And then there was the blackout, which really didn’t help…and ya know the rest.”

Suddenly her hand was warm, as Pamela’s own had reached out to give her a reassuring squeeze. She realized her eyes had teared up a bit and used her free hand to wipe the moisture away.

And then Pamela surprised her. She told her that it was okay if she went back to making noise, as long as the volume was a bit lower, as long as she wasn’t noisy during the night. She didn’t push for more of the story, either, which Harley was thankful for.

Her surprise didn’t end there. Pamela handed her her phone and said, “Here, give me your number so we can check in with each other, about the noise and such.”

A bit shocked, she watched herself take the phone and comply wordlessly. She’d just finished entering her phone number when she noticed the time on the top right corner.

“Oh shit! It’s Monday today, right?” Her eyes were wide.

Pamela acquiesced.

Harley scrambled to her feet, wolfing down the last pieces of breakfast. “I’m so _so_ sorry I have an appointment with a patient this mornin’ in less than 10 minutes!”

She placed the plate back on the coffee table and sprinted to the door, turning around at the last minute to shout in the stunned Pamela’s direction.

“Thank you for everythin’ Red! I’ll make it up to you I swear!”

And just like that, she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hopefully see you next week for another chapter of these gays pining over each other.  
> Please tell me your thoughts in the comments and drop a kudos if you haven't yet!


	7. Government guidelines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!! Sorry for not updating last week I had some personal stuff and didn't have enough time to write a proper chapter ;)  
> So here ya go, some more Harley backstory and some more thirsty pining from our favorite plant mom and clown duo <3  
> ALSO we finally get a bit of Barbara Gordon, enjoy!

_Whew._

Harley was in her “home office”, slumped on her chair, arms limp at her side and legs stretched out in front of her. She’d just hung up on her patient after their Monday morning session had ended, and she felt relief wash over her. She’d made it. She miraculously hadn’t missed her appointment and the patient hadn’t questioned why her camera was turned off. She’d been lucky to wake up when she did.

Resting her eyes, she reminisced about the very odd situation she’d found herself in this morning. And the previous night. Already it seemed so far away. Less than 24 hours ago she’d been in such a different mindset...She’d been utterly convinced she’d never see Pamela again, had been on the brink of a meltdown, moping around and trying to not make any noise in a pathetic effort to get back into her neighbour’s good graces.

And now? Now she could live normally again, let the comforting buzz of her background noise play (before 10pm and more mindful of her neighbour, but still…) Her breathing was easier, her social batteries were recharged, her anxiety squashed. She’d slept with- okay, not _slept with_ \- she’d fallen asleep on a couch with Pam, had eaten breakfast with her, gotten to know her, and even given her her phone number. If she was brutally honest with herself, the anguish she’d endured kind of felt worth it, if it had brought her to this point…

Harley smiled to herself as a hazy memory from the night before came back to her. She had stirred, half-awake and disoriented at some ungodly hour before sunrise. The lights from the city were softly illuminating Pamela’s living room. Looking down at the sleeping form snugly holding onto her had instantly put her at ease. With droopy, heavy eyelids, she’d fought to keep herself conscious for just a moment longer, to revel in the even rise and falls of Pam peacefully sleeping against her. In a totally _not creepy_ way, she’d breathed her in, had tried to commit the weight, the feeling of her body against hers to memory. The long and even breaths had lulled her back to sleep, contentedly falling back into the arms of Morpheus.

She guessed that now all she could do was wait for Pam to text her... She checked her phone, and instead of a cute “Hey it’s Pamela :) ” from an unknown number, there were missed calls from Barbara, and more than a hundred unread messages in their group chat with Joan. _Oops_.

Barbara’s cute, freckled face, red hair and dimples greeted her as her caller id lit up on her screen, apparently not for the first time that day. Her thumb swiped to accept the call, arm raising the phone to her ear.

“Babs?” She winced at the apologetic sound of her own voice.

Barbara sighed loudly into her mic. Harley was so familiar with that sigh that she could vividly picture her friend’s face: brow crinkled and eyes closed as she bottled her exasperation.

She and Barbara went _way back_. One day, when she was just a snot-nosed kid, always getting in trouble in the rougher parts of Gotham, she’d been brought into the police station for some petty crime she couldn’t even remember at this point. It was there that she’d met Barbara Gordon. At first, she hadn’t known that the little know-it-all was the commissioner’s daughter. She’d been sitting at an officer’s desk, sulking and thinking of the trouble she’d be in at home, when Barbara had simply walked up to her and struck up a conversation. Oddly enough, that day was the beginning of a great friendship. Despite their many differences, they’d easily connected and hadn’t let go since.

Harley knew that meeting Babs had changed her life for the better.

Babs was probably the reason her life hadn’t gone down the gutter, like so many in her neighbourhood. Without her, she wouldn’t have learned how to take advantage of any and all opportunity that came her way. Without her, she probably would have let her passionate, ambitious nature wither away as the hardships of life succeeded one another.

Barbara had fuelled her; _she_ was the reason she’d finally given thought to her school’s gymnastics teacher’s request of enrolling her in competitions. Once she’d accepted, her natural talent and hard work propelled her to regionals, nationals, and soon enough, she’d earned herself a scholarship to Gotham University. She was the first person in her family to get a higher education, and she couldn’t have been prouder.

Harley was brawn _and_ brains, and when she’d started university, her teachers were surprised to discover such a bright young mind in such an unconventional package. She amazed them, earned her doctorate, graduated _cum laude_ from Gotham University’s Psychology program.

And throughout all this she’d had Babs at her side. Her family couldn’t give two shits about her gymnastics competitions, but Barbara had been there, cheering her on at every meet. Barbara had been the one to tell her about scholarships, how they worked, how to apply for them. She’d been the one to convince her to complete her doctorate when she’d been ready to throw it all away for Jack. She’d been the one that hadn’t given up on her even when she’d shut everyone out of her life for him. She’d been there to pick up the pieces and had probably had a helping hand in making sure her filed complaint got processed as quickly as it did. She knew the stats for domestic abuse cases, and she felt very lucky she’d gotten out of it as well as she did.

Which is why Harley felt guilty that she hadn’t been responding to her friends, had made excuses to avoid their calls. She should be better than this. She more than anyone should’ve identified the signs of her deteriorating mental health, should’ve been able to make herself cope healthily, should’ve relied on her very capable and caring friends. If she was so smart, why did she always struggle to apply her knowledge to herself?

She felt the tell-tale pang of guilt, a sinking feeling in her stomach as Barbara’s voice rang in her ear, telling her how worried she and Joan had been. But of course, Barbara knew her too well.

“But don’t beat yourself up over this Harls! I’m just nagging you a bit because I care. As long as you’re okay…”

Harley finally found the courage to cut in. “I am!” She cleared her throat. “I am now.” Her lips curled upwards in a tentative smile, even though her friend couldn’t see her.

“Good. Would you mind telling me what’s been up with you then, _Harleen Frances Quinzel_?”

“Ugh. How dare ya.” Harley chuckled. Her friend always had the right words to get her out of a funk. As she told her the ridiculous situation she’d ended up in with her neighbour, she felt warmth bloom in her chest. She couldn’t help the joyous feeling of speaking with her best friend again. It also felt amazing to just let the word-vomit spill out of her mouth, to _finally_ tell someone about Pamela. Telling the story was giving her an odd, outside perspective, and a weird sense of clarity.

When she finally finished the story, she let out a long exhale. “And there you have it. The fantabulous story of why your dumbass friend has been ignoring your calls.”

“…Harley. Can I be brutally honest?”

“Sure, Babs.”

“Just how hot is this woman? Like…I know you’re a bi disaster but this level of pining? Unheard of.” Harley burst out laughing. Barbara went on. “She better be like, Diana Prince level of hot for you to have ignored me the past few days.”

“I mean…I’d say she’s even hotter than Miss Prince. She’s like a frickin’ goddess, I swear to ya.”

“Hotter than the UN Secretary General…” Barbara sounded thoughtful and a little bit doubtful. “Do you know her full name?”

“Yes, but you ain’t gonna do a background check on her, or stalk her like a weirdo, right?”

Barbara cleared her throat. “Of course not, that would be unethical, Harls. How dare you doubt my integrity!”

Harley rolled her eyes, knowing Babs would get her way anyways. “Her name’s Pamela Isley. _Doctor_ Pamela Isley.”

“Ha! Your mom always did want you to marry a doctor, Harley.”

“But _I’m_ a doctor!” She half-heartedly whined. Then it clicked, and she felt warmth flood her cheeks. “A-and who said anythin’ about _marryin’_ her?”

Barbara laughed. “I’m just pulling your leg. And I don’t think I’ll need to do much of a background check on her, I know that last name, Isley.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. They’re a pretty renowned family in Gotham. Rich and famous, like the Waynes, the Kanes and so on.”

“Then I was right! Pammie _is_ a rich gal.” Harley grinned, happy to feel her observation skills validated.

“Wow, _shit_ you weren’t kidding.” Barbara cut in, letting out a low whistle of appreciation at the image of Pamela she’d unearthed. “And you say she’s got your number now? Your karma must be paying off, Quinzel.”

Harley’s phone buzzed, and she put her friend on speaker to check her screen.

“It sure is, I just got a text from her!” She quickly saved the number under “Pam” with a red and green heart.

“Oh? What did she say?”

“She sent me some article or somethin’…about new government guidelines?”

Barbara’s laugh rang in her ears. “Wow, ok, I take it back, your karma’s still shit. What are the new guidelines?”

And then it was Harley’s turn to splutter and laugh as she actually read the article Pamela had sent her. “Oh. My. _God.”_

“ _What?_ ” Barbara was impatient.

Voice still dripping with mirth, Harley let her friend in on what was so funny. “The government jus’ started this campaign, some plan to support businesses during lockdown.” She paused for dramatic effect. “See, they want people to go to restaurants, so they’re gonna pay a part of people’s bills. They made a hashtag to get people excited about their idea, and it’s already trendin’, folks love it.”

“What’s so funny about that?”

“The hashtag’s called ‘ _Eat out to help out_ ’!” Harley barely managed to say the hashtag aloud before exploding in a fit of giggles.

A beat, and Barbara laughed right along with her. “ _Wow._ What a great, noble movement. I wonder whether they really didn’t realize the innuendo, or if somewhere, right now, the queer woman who managed to pitch this at some board meeting is _very_ satisfied with herself.”

“She better be. I wanna get this tattooed on me!”

Barbara hummed, thoughtful. “But you know what this means, right?”

“What?”

“She wants to get in your pants.”

\---

Maybe sending that article was a bit too _direct_? Fuck.

Pamela had never really been on this side of the equation. Her looks usually did all the work for her, she’d never had to put much effort into this kind of stuff. She sighed.

After Harley had hurriedly left for her appointment that morning, she’d spent hours writing and deleting 30 drafts, racking her brain for a cool way to start a conversation with her neighbour. (She’d sweetly renamed the new contact in her phone “Harls”.)

She probably should be concentrating on all the paperwork she had due next week, should be working like a responsible adult. She’d settled for sitting on her couch to do research on her laptop. She was _supposed_ to be reading academic papers to enrich her current study. (But honestly? She wasn’t.) Her mind was entirely focused on Harley. And she couldn’t blame it for wanting to relive and trigger some dopamine or endorphin release that so often accompanied the interactions she had with the beautiful blonde. She would naturally drift back to the tempting dream she’d had that very morning… the silky feeling of skin sliding against her own, the good kind of pain as hands pulled at her hair, the hot, breathy moans brushing past her ear… _F_ _uck_ , giving in to these thoughts certainly wasn’t helping her case.

Honestly, she wasn’t surprised, considering all the information she had at her disposal. There was no way her mind could forget the absolutely _pornographic_ sounds she’d heard from the other side of her living room on that fateful day, nor the flurry of sensations as they’d practically devoured each other in her doorway. Brain loaded with all that information, she’d wholeheartedly _expected_ to dream about it at some point, given her current…frustration. (Across the city, in her penthouse, Selina Kyle felt a sudden satisfaction because _she was right._ )

She couldn’t ignore the very probable reality that their attraction was mutual, nor the blossoming realisation that she was getting attached to Harley. Cognitively it made no sense to her. She rarely enjoyed people’s company…she actually barely tolerated them, preferring the company of her plants. Selina was a rare exception to that rule.

Harley seemed like such a different type of person, boisterous, spontaneous, with vastly different interests. And yet…emotionally it made more sense than anything ever before. They’d just…connected. As simple as that. Harley had relied on her in a time of need, and she’d unthinkingly, organically reciprocated that. She knew she was in too deep. Her fingers were anxiously drumming against her thigh.

Still regretting her choice to forward the article Selina had sent her and lost in thought, she was a bit startled when she got a reply from Harley. (It’s not like she had been checking her screen every other minute.) She didn’t know what she should’ve expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. Her cheeks flushed as she read it over and over again. Did she _mean_ what she thought she meant?

Harley had replied “Well you know me, I’m all about helping out. When would be good for you?”, accompanied by that deviously smirky emoji.

Two could play at that game. Her lips pursed as she thought of a reply. With a satisfied smirk, her thumbs danced on her screen and she hit send.

\---

Harley’s phone buzzed. She hadn’t expected such a swift answer, since Pam seemed more like a reserved type of person (even though she looked like sex on a stick).

Harley had ended her call with Barbara ten minutes earlier because her best friend wouldn’t stop telling her to just go up to Pamela’s door, naked. Why was she even friends with her? They’d gone through it _three_ times. Barbara hadn’t budged an inch from her position, claiming it was the “most logical and efficient way” for her to resolve this whole situation and get them to “be together already”. Even though she knew Babs was usually right in her assessments (like some weird Oracle or something), they often weren’t suited to conventional social norms. She groaned. And now the idea was in her mind anyways, like some sick temptation. It felt like an invasive thought, like that weird urge to jump when one is standing a little too close to a cliff’s edge.

She wouldn’t jump, of course. Even though she’d revel in the way Pamela would react. She could picture it easily, how she’d bite her lip nervously, how her breath would shorten, her pupils would widen with arousal…And then their bodies would finally meet again, like the waves returning to the ocean, inevitable. Harley felt a small simmering heat spread in her body as she gladly let her fantasy play out in her mind’s eye.

_Fuck._ She was getting side-tracked. Text. Pamela. Phone.

Snapped out of it, she unlocked her phone with her thumb and read Pam’s reply.

“Tonight. 7PM?”

“Perfect.”

\---

Harley gave herself a final once over in her mirror before heading out.

She really cleaned up nice, if she did say so herself. Her hair was up in her signature ponytails, and she’d applied some pink and blue eyeliner to match the tips. For the outfit, she’d opted for something casual: golden overalls with a pink crop top. Her dresses always felt too formal… She was feeling a bit playful, so the zipper on the overalls was down to her navel. This outfit really played to her strengths. Pam wouldn’t know what hit her. She grinned and opened her door.

She took two steps and arrived at her destination. She genuinely didn’t know what to expect. This situation could go two ways, depending on whether Pamela was playing along or whether she was serious. And Harley honestly didn’t know what her own intentions were either. That made the situation _real_ simple.

If Pamela signalled that she really wanted to go eat out, she’d scouted a nice place they’d be able to go to. She knew the owner and would be able to look all cool and suave in front of her. If she was serious…then Harley would follow through. She _was_ starting to feel a bit hungry, and she couldn’t think of a better _entrée_ than Pamela. She wet her lips at the thought and checked the time before knocking.

Soon enough the door opened, and she was graced with Pamela’s presence. Her mouth dried at the sight before her.

_Oh._

She tried and promptly failed to stop her eyes from sinfully raking across her neighbour’s body. Pamela had dressed to _kill_.

She slightly towered over her in tasteful, black heels. She’d apparently decided to torture Harley by wearing a short, black pencil skirt. Tucked into it was a dark green camisole that left little to the imagination. Harley fixated on the dark collarbones before her, supressing the primal urge to kiss, nip and bite from there and up Pam’s neck, to make her putty in her hands, hear her intoxicating little moans again. The crimson lipstick called out to Harley; she craved to capture Pam's lips and press their bodies against her door like she'd done just a few days ago. She thankfully mustered just enough self-control to _not_ do that. She'd pat herself on the back if she could.

Her look was simple but effective. She looked absolutely _gorgeous_ , like Harley’s every fantasy brought to life. She was sin incarnate, standing there all confident, full lips curved and amusement clear on her face.

_As the kids these days would say: step on me please._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all the people reading, kudo-ing and commenting it really makes me so happy to know people are enjoying this story <3  
> Fun fact i've literally been having to write all this just because i needed to write one (1) piece of dialogue that wouldn't leave me alone (the "fuck your neighbour!" line between Selina and Pam)


	8. Fever pitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there :D I'm back with some more sapphic pining soul food in these difficult times  
> Big shout out to my friend Ella for inspiring me plot-wise for this chapter!  
> I hope you guys will enjoy <3

Okay. This was happening. She could stay calm. _Yup_.

Leaning against her bathroom counter, Pamela was psyching herself up for tonight, delicately dragging crimson red on her lips with a practiced hand. She pursed her lips together and gave herself a final once over. It had been _eons_ since she’d last dolled herself up for someone else, it felt kind of nice. In the mirror, her reflection smiled back at her and she shut down that voice in her head that was haughtily pointing out her flaws to her (it sounded suspiciously like her mother).

She looked _exquisite_. Her heart fluttered a bit at the thought of Harley seeing her like this, in this black pencil skirt and stunning camisole that brought out her eyes. _Oh_ , this was going to be a fun night.

She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge that she also felt the telltale weight of anticipation in her belly, her nervousness evident in the way she couldn’t stand still, hands slightly fidgeting by her sides. Her chest rose and fell slowly as she evened out her breath and centered herself to erase exterior signs of weakness. Having a composed front in public had been drilled into her from birth, and she wasn’t going to change her habits now.

However, it wasn’t easy to keep herself composed in such an ambiguous circumstances. The cogs in her mind were whirring endlessly, wondering where this night would lead her. Selina would have a field day if she knew she’d instigated this whole thing with her dumb article.

Dry knocks sounded through the door. _This is it_ , she thought to herself as she made her way to it, steeled for whatever the night would bring.

And bring it did. She remarkably managed to keep up her collected front long enough to appreciate the slow and sinful stare lighting up her brown skin. Inside, she wished she could let her face be as much of an open book because she absolutely hadn’t been prepared for the sight of Harley in golden overalls and a bright pink crop top. She shouldn’t have been surprised that her whimsical spontaneity translated to her wardrobe, she’d seen it before. Just…not to this level. The skin-tight outfit hugged her neighbour’s fit form like a glove, and her hands itched to feel Harley’s muscular arms, as they were wondrously bare. Harley had unfairly left the zipper down to her navel and in her mind, Pam danced with the idea of unzipping it all the way down, shoving her against the wall and taking her right then and there in the hallway.

What’s a girl to do? She’d had a whole afternoon to think of nothing but how her neighbour had hinted at wanting to “eat out” together. _Of course_ her thoughts would take that route at the slightest provocation. _Of course_ she’d be desperate to rip moans from Harley’s throat as she’d slowly but surely coax her into orgasmic bliss.

But Pam had self-control. She stood there and smiled pleasantly as Harley drunk her in a little longer.

“Aren’t you going to come in?” She stepped aside and gestured her arm in the direction of her living room.

\---

_Temptress_.

That was the word that stuck in her mind the most at the sight of Pamela. Her coy smirk and cocked eyebrow were masterful and made the hairs at the back of her neck stand on edge, a satisfying shiver making its way up her spine. She worried her lip a bit, smudging a speck of lipstick on her teeth.

“Aren’t you going to come in?” Pam smiled innocently.

_Oh._ So, this was really happening. Plan B. Okay. She fought to keep the surprise out of her eyes and obligingly followed Pamela’s gently swaying hips into her apartment. She closed the door behind her and took the moment to let out a deep breath, eyes closed. The _click click_ of Pamela’s heels echoed dully.

_Fuck_. She’d been 80% sure that they were actually going to eat out. At a restaurant. Her body felt unnaturally warm.

“You coming?”

_Oh, I will…_

She admonished the thought as soon as she’d had it. _Focus, Harley!_ She stepped into the living room, and couldn’t contain the small, sharp intake of breath she took in surprise.

So, there had been a third option she hadn’t considered, apparently. Well played, Pam. On the living room table, between a set of softly glowing candles, was a brown take away bag. Pamela silently walked back from the kitchen holding a platter with napkins, glasses, and a bottle of wine.

Classy.

Her heels clicked against the wooden floor until she reached the dining table, set down the platter and laid everything out. Her eyes sought out Harley’s, who was still dumbly standing a few meters away, arms dangling at her side uselessly. Her red lips stretched in a relaxed smile, and she beckoned Harley once again.

Once Harley reached the table, Pamela sat down and lightly coughed, a sign Harley took as “sit down, already”. So, she did.

Things progressed naturally from there. At first, they ate in a comfortable silence, savouring their food, and Harley did her best to hide the fact she wasn’t a natural with chopsticks. (Pam did notice, and she thought she looked adorable when her tongue occasionally poked out of her mouth in concentration.) Eating takeout food was like ambrosia to them in that moment, the pure bliss of eating something out of their cooking rotation routine worthy of small hums of contentment. They easily slipped into a friendly conversation, sipping their wine, discussing their interests, jobs and friends. The natural familiarity of it was refreshing, and yet it was odd to realize they actually didn’t know that much about each other. No better time than the present.

Harley was becoming increasingly aware of just how _fucked_ she was. As someone possessing extensive knowledge about human brains and behaviour, she couldn’t keep up her mind-bending denial any longer: she was falling hard for with this woman. No doubt about it. Her cheeks were even starting to ache a bit from all the smiling Pamela elicited from her. She simply couldn’t help herself; her face would split itself into grins on its own, her heartbeat thrummed against her skin, her cheeks tingled, from the wine or the infatuation, she didn’t know.

What she did know was that the woman before her was smart, funny, and absolutely enthralling when she talked about her field. Never in a million years would Harley dream to interrupt her. The way her eyes lit up, her hands became agitated, and her stony façade gradually melted away as she shared her recent experiments- it was like gazing at the moon and stars at night, because she would never tire of the view, and she felt humbled at the beauty before her.

Soon enough, their plates were bare; the tabletop candles had shrunk, pearly white wax spread out in solid pools on the brass platter that held them. Harley held herself in check, she craved the satisfaction of prodding them clean off the surface with her nails. In her distraction she didn’t really notice that Pamela was eyeing her with particular interest, mindlessly swirling her wine with tiny motions of her wrist. Pamela bashfully looked away as soon as Harley brought her attention back to her.

“I didn’t reckon I’d lose my resistance to alcohol so fast… I’m feelin’ a little warm, how bout’ you?” Harley laughed throatily and threw in a playful wink. She noticed that Pam’s eyes darted down to her lips for a second.

The redhead tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and leaned back in her chair, letting out a vague noise of affirmation.

“I must admit I’m also feeling a bit warm. I can even feel a small headache coming on. That might just be age, though.”

“To age, then!”

Following Harley’s lead, Pamela raised her glass and finished her wine. Just as she’d placed her glass down, she erupted into a sudden coughing fit, angling her head into the crook of her elbow. For a moment it seemed to have passed, and she smiled awkwardly, but when she opened her mouth to speak, she coughed twice more.

“Are you okay?” Harley’s hand had tentatively shot up towards her, her face scrunched up in a frown.

“Y-yeah I think so…” Pamela’s voice was slightly hoarse, and she looked weary. Then her eyes widened, almost comically so, as realization hit. “Oh.”

Harley was puzzled for a second, and then it hit her too. “You don’t think…?”

“I mean, the symptoms fit, don’t they?” Her eyes flitted up to Harley’s, gaze intense. “Do you have any symptoms? If I have some now, I must’ve been incubating for a few days, you would’ve definitely caught it when we-“. She trailed off.

“When we…?” Harley wiggled her eyebrows, unable to let the comment slide. When Pamela didn’t even crack a smile, she cleared her throat and answered seriously. “Oh, uh, well I feel a bit warm, but that’s about it.”

Pamela looked pensive for a moment. She was mumbling under her breath.

Harley understood the seriousness of the situation, but also that reacting this way wasn’t very productive. She reached across the table a took Pamela’s hand between her own to ground her. When their eyes met again, she gave her a comforting smile.

“Hey _, hey_. We’re gonna be jus’ fine. I could’ve given it to you or vice-versa- there’s no way we can put the blame on anyone so don’t feel bad, ‘kay?"

Pam still looked quite worried, so she gave her hand a squeeze. "We’re in this together.”

Pamela gave a slow nod, and they both stared into each others' eyes for a bit. But then Pamela's overactive brain kicked in, remembering everything she could about the virus. "Are you sure you don't have any symptoms? Do you have any chest pains? Shortness of breath? "

Harley shook her head.

'Good. Me neither. Our symptoms aren’t those those serious ones, then." She bit her thumbnail nervously.

Feeling that she should stop this woman from going into overdrive, Harley piped-up. "And for all we know we could’ve just caught the flu or somethin’, yeah?”

\---

She couldn’t have imagined a more delightful evening. It had been nearly perfect. The key word being _nearly_. She couldn’t stop beating herself up for completely disregarding her occasional coughs and itchy throat, the slight fever, the dull headache... But then again, she’d been so completely charmed by the blonde before her, she really wasn’t that surprised.

She’d unironically thought her elevated temperature was simply caused by her proximity to Harley. It wasn’t too far-fetched considering how she’d consistently reacted so strongly to her in the past. But she couldn’t let herself dwell on just how much she’d been under Harley’s spell…and how much she wanted to stay under it, either.

Fuck, she was in deep.

She promptly came up with a plan, sharing it with Harley as she went. They cleared the table in unison, and the blonde followed her, listening attentively as Pamela talked. Her plan was rather simple. She was going to use her lab equipment to test Harley and herself for the coronavirus. She didn’t want to have to wait a few days, and since she had the necessary instruments, why the hell not do it herself?

Now that she was aware of her possible infection, it was like a switch had been flipped, she was so much more aware of her throat’s itchiness, the pressure on her temples, the uncomfortable warmth making sweat roll down her back. Or was it simply the nocebo effect? No matter.

She led Harley to her office, the room where she’d set up her laboratory. She mechanically slipped on her white lab coat and handed one to Harley, who was standing in the doorway, gaping at all her machines and glassware. The coat clashed horribly with her golden overalls, but it tugged on Pam’s heartstrings to see her in it. Did she also wear one to work, as a psychiatrist? Probably, since she looked at home in it. After disinfecting her hands, she forced herself to focus back on the problem at hand. She set her computer down on her workstation and pried it open.

“Harls, are you sure you’re feeling ok? You can go lie down while I do this if you want.” She absently called out as she typed in her password. She’d need to find the proper academic journals to ascertain exactly how to identify covid-19. Yes, she had a doctorate that gave her enough basic understanding to do this, but she still didn’t know what exactly she should be looking for. It’s not like there would be a little neon sign saying “Hey, this right here is SARS-CoV-2!”.

She realized Harley hadn’t answered her and she looked up to see that she’d gone out to fetch the blanket from the couch. Her arms held out the blanket over Pam’s shoulders in a clear question, and she nodded her assent. The warmth she’d been feeling all night had been rapidly turning into cold shivers, and she was thankful for the heat it brought to her back (even though it wasn’t really in line with lab protocol). She wasn’t indifferent to the kindness of the gesture, either.

There! Just as she thought, the procedures were pretty similar to the ones she used in her work with plant organisms. The biotechnicians in the academic paper relied on reverse transcriptase polymerase chain reaction (RT-PCR) to identify the novel coronavirus. She could do that. Sequencing human RNA wasn't very different from plant RNA. She disinfected her hands once more (to be sure), put on a mask, gloves and goggles, and found a sterile swab she could use.

“Harley?” She’d fully entered work mode now. The blonde, who’d been patiently waiting next to her and desperately trying not to touch anything in the lab, did a mock salute, her toothy grin only _slightly_ cracking a dent in Pamela’s professional composure.

“Open your mouth please. I’m going to take a sample from your throat, and it might be uncomfortable. Say ‘aaaah’ until I tell you it’s ok, all right?”

“Sure, doc!” Harley opened her mouth and Pamela dragged the long nasopharyngeal swab against the back of her throat. She rotated it for about 15 seconds (Harley dutifully vocalizing the entire time) and she was done.

"Perfect. Thank you." Next was her sample. After fitting her with gloves and a mask (to avoid contamination of the sterile swab), she instructed Harley on how to take a sample correctly. What a weird date this was turning out to be.

“I know right?” Harley’s smile was hidden behind her mask, but the crinkling of her eyes communicated her mirth anyways.

Oh shit, she’d said that out loud? Pamela resisted the urge to drag her palm down her face in frustration (it would needlessly infect her glove after all). She coughed into her elbow, then carefully removed her mask by the elastics. She opened her mouth wide and said “Aaaah”, suddenly very aware of how close Harley was to her face with her ridiculously long swab.

It wasn’t a very pleasant experience to have a giant q-tip wiggled at the back of one’s throat, but it was less uncomfortable than she expected. Now that both samples were ready, it was mostly a matter of following instructions and letting her machines do the work.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost 11PM. It would take around an hour to get the results.

\---

She should focus, be _serious_.

She’d been thrust into a worrying situation and she should probably be worrying about her health. And yet…despite being conscious of the possible threat, her brain would _not_ get over Pamela in her lab coat. In a way, the outfit stirred back memories of the first time they met in the supermarket: tight pencil skirt, heels, and the intoxicating aura of a female authority figure. She should probably feel guilty for enjoying how much she’d enjoyed being bossed around. (But she didn’t.)

As soon as the realization hit that they’d probably been infected (Pamela’s symptoms were pretty clear), Pamela’s demeanour had gone from her relaxed, flirty self to that of a determined professional that left no room for insubordinate behaviour, so Harley had naturally followed suit. She’d nearly gone slack-jawed when she’d discovered Pamela’s impressive in-house laboratory, and she’d barely kept herself from touching everything and voicing the thousand questions she was burning to ask. (She filed all her questions away for later). This was low-key a cool situation, despite the serious stakes.

Pamela had been so focused on her computer that she clearly hadn’t noticed how she kept on shivering. She really had become utterly dedicated to the task at hand. Concerned, Harley had brought her a blanket from the living room. This virus was no laughing matter, and despite the possibility that they might simply have the flu, Harley had felt a very real worry sitting heavily in her stomach. Coronavirus could have long-lasting impacts, even after recovery. She’d nervously eyed Pamela, who’d been coughing intermittently as her eyes skimmed article after article. Suddenly, she’d seemed to have found what she was looking for.

Things had escalated quickly from there: Pam had taken a sample from her and then instructed her to do the same. As soon as both had been retrieved, she’d gotten to work in her laboratory.

And now here she was, nervously standing at the lab’s door, watching Pamela work with precise, fluid movements. On some level, it was soothing to watch her because Pam looked so at home in this environment, handling the instruments as gracefully as an orchestra with their own. For once, Harley didn’t really mind this relative silence. She was contentedly mesmerized, waiting patiently to know whether they’d caught the virus.

In some sense, she wasn’t that worried. Panicking about the virus would be unproductive and the odds were in their favour in terms of vulnerability to it. She knew that other than Pam she hadn’t been in close contact with anyone in the past few weeks, so she was serene in the fact that she probably hadn’t infected a third party. The thought that really calmed her down was that, whether their tests came back negative or positive wouldn’t really change much of anything, except their ability to go get groceries. If either of their symptoms got worse, they would act accordingly, but until then they could simply keep on quarantining, like everybody else.

Pamela turned around, an unreadable expression on her face.

“So? Do we have it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a kudo or a comment if you liked it ;)  
> Forgot to mention that I'm relying on Harley's outfits from the Birds of Prey movie, so if you want to see what she looks like in gold overalls, just look for the poster :p


	9. Positively dreadful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back to resolve last week's cliffhanger! Dun dun dunn.  
> If things aren't 100% medically accurate, it's because I'm mostly relying on the power of google, and i hope you'll forgive me.  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter ;)

“We have it.” Pamela said flatly.

“You’re positive?”

“We’re both positive.” The joke went completely over Pam’s head and she reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She let out a long exhale, Harley eyeing her nervously.

The scene was undoubtedly strange for a Monday night. They were both still wearing white lab coats, standing in the dim light of Pamela’s in-house laboratory. Her red hair tumbled down as she bent down and removed her heels, the seam of her stockings now visible on the edge of her toes. Without her heels on, Pam was only slightly taller than her, and Harley kind of revelled in it. In a way, she looked cute without them, probably because she’d only ever seen her dressed so pristine and put-together. Add the lab coat and it made the picture of her even more… _homey_. She watched silently as Pam neatly placed her shoes near the door. Harley could definitely understand why one would want to make oneself more comfortable after such news.

Getting confirmation that she had caught covid-19 felt like she’d swallowed lead, but she didn’t really dwell on the feeling. Logically, one of them must have caught it at the supermarket and infected the other when they’d kissed… which is a memory she’d love to get lost in right now but really couldn’t. Shouldn’t. (She yearned to kiss her again, to have Pam working her up, dancing fingers lighting up her skin, liquid heat coursing through her veins as red lips playfully nipped at her neck…)

_But_. There were more important things to be focused on: Pamela didn’t seem to be doing very well, Harley could tell. Her face looked a little pale, her breathing was heavier, and her movements lacked strength and fluidity as she cleaned up her lab. (When had she started doing that? Harley wondered how long she’d been daydreaming). Just as she was about to ask whether she was feeling ok, Pamela swayed a bit, her hands latching on to nearest surface to steady herself.

“Red!” Harley closed the distance between them. Her hands hovered over Pamela’s hunched form, unsure, wondering if her touch would be unwelcome.

“I’m okay,” She pulled out a stool and gently sat herself down. “I just felt a little dizzy for a second.” She coughed into her arm and gave a small, reassuring smile.

The blonde lifted her eyebrow and made a face, doubtful. It felt like her muscles were coiled like a spring and ready for action, but she forced herself to stay still. Even though she wanted to help. Even if the woman before her looked as ready to accept help as a cat would a bath.

“Harley…” Pamela’s stern, warning look would’ve been more impressive if her slightly hooded, unfocused eyes weren’t giving away her weakened state.

Harley’s lips thinned as she did her best to look impassive. Swift and quick, her hand found Pamela’s forehead to feel her temperature. At the heat she found, she frowned, stepping back. “You’re hot, Pam.”

A flicker of amusement lit up Pamela’s face, and Harley felt the need to backtrack, heat pooling in her cheeks and hands coming up defensively. “Ya know what I meant! You have a fever. You’re just warm. Not that you’re not hot, of course!” She rambled as she always did when flustered, and as always, she put her foot even further in her mouth. “Anyways, you’d best be gettin’ some rest. I should take ya to bed, where is it?”

Pamela was either too depleted to tease her or just merciful, because she answered honestly. “My bedroom’s that way.” She’d apparently resigned herself to letting Harley help her, not peeping a word when a hand was offered to her, instead taking it gratefully to be lifted up and supported on the way to her bed.

Harley felt thankful that Pamela was letting her be of assistance. She couldn’t help but think that she’d been the one to infect her (which was ridiculous, she knows, there’s no way they could tell), and felt even more guilty about the fact that she had virtually no symptoms. Pamela coughed some more into her elbow.

She opened the door Pamela had pointed to, entering her neighbour’s bedroom gingerly. It was furnished rather ordinarily: the queen-sized bed in the centre of the room was flanked by two bedside tables, a dark wooden wardrobe was propped against the opposite wall, and a to her left a door probably led to the bathroom… but it was also not quite what she expected. She’d expected something austere, but it felt…cosy. A big, green, mossy-looking carpet was placed under the bed, there was a few picture frames here and there, some throw pillows and _so. many. plants._ On the bedside table, on the floating shelves, on the windowsill…just. Everywhere. That part she wasn’t surprised about. There were also a lot of books.

She let Pamela sit herself down on her cream-colored sheets and realised she didn’t really know what to do now. Her eyes roamed the room nervously as she thought of something to say.

“So, uh…” She started, but Pamela thankfully saved her from herself, raising a hand at the wrist in the universal sign for ‘stop’. She coughed lightly.

“Thank you, Harley.” The smile she gave her made the lead in Harley’s stomach evaporate, replaced by the pleasant fluttering of butterflies. She looked thoughtful, brow slightly furrowed, before reaching for her bedside table. As she scoured through the drawers, she went on. “I had a lovely evening- despite everything- and I hope you did too.”

Harley let her glowing face do the talking.

A litany of small shuffling noises filled the room as Pamela kept on rummaging in her drawer, voicing her thoughts. “Fuck, we're really getting the full quarantine experience now. I’m guessing we’ll have to order our groceries online in the next week…Ah! There it is.” She triumphantly pulled out a key from her bedside table and held it out.

“Umm…?” Harley looked back in forth between the key and Pamela, puzzled.

“It’s my extra key. For you.” Pamela’s head quickly found her elbow as coughs racked through her body once again. “Since I’m clearly not doing so well, I’d feel safer if you had it, just in case.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah sure, Red. Makes sense, since I already have it."

“Right.”

They exchanged sweet smiles once again, a comfortable silence stretching on a bit. Harley cleared her throat and peeled her eyes away from the beautiful sight of Pamela sitting on her bed.

“So, uh, yeah. I’ll leave you to it. Text me if ya need anythin’, okay?”

“Naturally.”

\---

This whole covid situation was really a bitch. Pamela had forgotten just how much it _sucked_ to be sick. 

Last night she hadn’t found the strength to keep the kind ray of sunshine that was her neighbour at bay. She’d let herself be manhandled (woman handled?) to her bedroom, as it were, because if she was honest with herself, she was too tired to fight herself over this anymore. It had been so much easier to just go with her heart, which is why she hadn’t thought too hard about giving her her spare key.

Her night had not been pleasant. She’d desperately tried to fall asleep for many hours, an impossible task as the itchy need to cough decided to permanently take residence in her throat. When she did finally doze off, her slumber had been far from restful. The experience reminded her of being bedridden with fever as a child, a sticky, sweaty mess of insane, chilling dreams that she fell in and out of, delirious and unable to tell dreams apart from reality. Or rather, nightmares. She was trapped in her own mind with visions of Woodrue’s sinister smile, hovering over her like a madman.

She was so disoriented that she couldn’t really tell how long she’d been in her bed anymore. It honestly could’ve been days or just a few hours, either option felt as likely as the other. She’d covered herself with all the blankets she could find, wrapping herself in one big, dark cocoon of heat, her head tucked in. In the background she could faintly hear a small repetitive noise from her bedside table. Her groan of discontent morphed into a dry cough. Whatever it was, she was too bone-tired to check.

She absolutely _hated_ being sick. Not just because it left her weak and unable to do anything, but because it left her feeling absolutely disgusting. She felt like she was covered and filled with a slimy layer of _ick_ and she dreamt of just irradiating herself with a magic disinfecting beam of light. What a pleasant thought. Soon enough her small window of clarity and coherent thought vanished, and she fell back into deranged, fitful sleep.

Much later, she partially stirred awake by the overwhelming feeling of being truly _parched_. Her mouth felt like she’d swallowed sand. She blearily peaked her head out of her blanket cocoon, only to be immediately blinded by the light, eyes screwing shut in disgruntled surprise. (Fuck she’d forgotten to close the curtains.) She cracked them open, glaring, praying to Gaia that she’d had the forethought of putting a water bottle on her nightstand.

She didn’t.

_Fuck_. There’s no way this day could get any worse.

That’s when she heard the familiar slam of her front door closing. Great. Just, _great_. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in preparation. This was going to be humiliating, she could feel it in her bones.

Her bedroom door creaked open slowly, and Harley timidly whispered. “Pam? Are ya awake?”

\---

Harley had been worried sick. At first, she’d patiently waited for Pam to send her an update on her situation, maybe a little “hey, I’m ok”, or _something._ When 11am came and went and she still had no news, she sent her a message. Then another. And another. Soon enough it was 3pm and she still hadn’t gotten any news from Pamela, and her thoughts got real dark, real fast.

She’d tried calling her a few times, but to no avail, which had left her with only one option: to go check on her in person. So, here she was, awkwardly stepping into Pam’s room, anxiously checking if her neighbour was still alive.

“Pam, are ya awake?”

A small grunt emanated from the amorphous blob of blankets on the bed. She felt herself breathe more easily at that confirmation that Pamela was indeed alive. She was okay. Cautiously stepping closer to the bed, she was met with the endearing sight of Pam’s head poking out from under the covers, the bottom half of her face still covered. She looked like she’s had one hell of a night, puffy eyes boring right back into hers. Her red hair was sprawled out on the pillow like a scruffy lion’s mane.

She placed the back of her hand to Pamela’s forehead, and she seemed to not have broken her fever yet.

A scratchy, low voice reached her ears from under the covers. “Water…please.”

A water bottle, a glass and a gulped down paracetamol pill (for the fever) later, Harley realized that Pamela hadn’t eaten since their date. She had to fix that.

Last night, after returning to her apartment she’d laid awake in bed in the dark, face lit up by her phone’s screen as she scrolled through article after article to learn as much as she could about coronavirus, to make sure she could help Pam out through this. Which is why she knew she should keep her neighbour hydrated and give her nutritious meals.

Realistically, she also knew that someone with a fever wouldn’t want to eat much, so now that hydration had been taken care of, she returned to her flat to cook up what her mother used to make for her when she was sick.

Twenty minutes later, she closed Pam’s door with a push of her hips, carefully keeping the tray in her hands as stable as she could. She was surprised to find Pamela had slightly sat up in her bed, her shoulders and her head propped up on pillows as she dozed off.

“I hope you like chicken soup,” She gave a small encouraging smile when Pam cracked her eyes open. She still looked quite weak; her skin coated with a thin sheen of sweat. “It’s my ma’s special recipe, works wonders.” She helped her sit up more fully against the headboard, then placed the tray on her lap.

Sitting at the bottom of the bed, Harley patiently watched as Pam sipped at the soup, sluggishly bringing the spoon from the bowl to her mouth. When she hummed appreciatively, Harley felt pride bloom in her chest. Ma’s chicken soup was _the best thing_ to cure a fever. (Even though this was not a regular fever, the logical part of her brain reminded her.)

They sat in a comfortable silence as Pamela ate. Once her bowl was empty, she nervously looked around a bit before speaking up, voice a bit hoarse from disuse.

“Could you help me get to the bathroom please? I’m feeling a bit weak and my muscles are sore, so...”

“Oh! Sure,” Harley took the tray away. “Here you go, you can lean on me.”

She helped Pamela rise from her bed and let her use her as a crutch to get to the bathroom. She absentmindedly noted that Pam was still wearing the previous night's clothes. After closing the door behind her, she was startled by the sudden noise of a telephone ringing.

Her eyes zeroed in on the source, Pamela’s phone vibrating against her nightstand with a low hum. Before she could really think about it, she let her curiosity guide her to it, tilting her head to read the name and picture flashing on the screen.

“Selina…” She read to herself, eyes glued to the picture of a beautiful, olive-skinned woman with short black hair as the ringtone kept on playing. She vaguely remembered Pam mentioning her socialite best friend during their date.

After a few more rings, the screen reverted to the regular notification centre, and she saw that Pam had quite a few missed calls and over 50 unread messages from Selina. (along with her own. It seemed she hadn’t touched her phone since yesterday.). She was startled once again when Selina's caller ID reappeared, and in an instinctual, knee-jerk moment of panic, she picked it up and answered.

Shit. Shit shit shit. _Fuck_. She shouldn’t have done that. _Why_ had she done that? What will Pamela think? But it was too late. As soon as the phone was pressed against her ear, a throaty, bored voice spoke.

“Finally, you answer my call. I was beginning to think you were otherwise occupied with your hot little neighbour-”

Harley’s face flushed and she failed to contain nervous laughter at Selina’s words. This made the other woman pause in her monologue.

A beat. Harley broke the awkward silence. “Umm, Pam’s actually in the bathroom right now...“

Another beat, the silence painfully stretching on in Harley's mind, but then Selina quickly recovered, her voice exuding barely-contained amusement. “Oh! Is this Harley speaking?”

Pamela had talked about her to Selina? Her voice was hesitant as she answered. “Yeah, that’s me-“

Selina cut her off. “I knew it! You guys _are_ sleeping together. And she has the gall to try and shame _me_ for fucking Kate. I’ll never let her hear the end of this."

Harley's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish.

Taking her silence as confirmation, Selina unwittingly continued her assault on Harley's sanity. "So. Harley. How was it?”

\---

Pamela was using a warm washcloth to try and clean her sweaty, aching body. She didn’t feel strong enough to step into her shower, so she was sitting on a small stool, attentively running the soapy glove across her skin.

Harley had helpfully brought her to the bathroom, and after relieving herself she’d caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her first thought had been that she looked absolutely _terrible_ , but then she’d noticed something worse. She was still wearing her outfit from their date, and she hadn’t removed her makeup. That partly explained her discomfort and overall feeling of stickiness. She’d decided to quickly fix that, painstakingly stripping her tights, skirt and camisole off so she could feel less like a human grime monster and more like herself.

It was only now, after she'd finished cleaning and patting herself dry, that she realized her grave mistake. She shivered.

She was getting cold, but she hadn’t brought a change of clothes with her in the bathroom. _Fuck_. Well, she wasn’t really surprised, considering she wasn’t completely lucid at the moment. She’d need to get some pyjamas from her wardrobe.

Wait.

Was Harley….talking to herself? She perked up at the sound of her adorable accent across the door, and she frowned, perplexed. She reached for a towel and wrapped herself up in it, tucking it securely before stepping back into her bedroom, legs still a bit wobbly, and her head slightly spinning with the effort of being upright.

There, she was met with the sight of Harley, staring back at her like a deer in headlights, shocked, her phone gripped awkwardly against her ear, mouth hanging slightly open. They stared at each other in confusion for a few seconds, Harley respectfully trying not to stare at her state of undress. The blonde stammered, handing her the phone.

“I-it’s Selina, she kept on callin’ and I-“

_Selina?_ Oh no.

Pamela took the phone from Harley’s outstretched hand and braced herself before speaking.

“Selina?”

“Ah! Kitten, you’ve finally decided to join us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, I hope you liked it! If you did and you want to read more, nothing motivates me more than comments <3


	10. Exquisite temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for posting later than usual!  
> I'm coming back at ya with more thirst than ever to make up for the past few chapters hehe, hope you enjoy :D  
> Thanks to all the lovely people who kudo and comment (especially the comments i love you guys), you really motivate me to keep writing.

Harley bit her lip anxiously as she watched Pamela take the phone from her outstretched hand. She reflexively looked away, not really registering the state of undress on a conscious level.

She was so fucked. She literally didn’t know what had come over her, what had possessed her to pick up Pam’s phone in the first place? _Why._ Whyyy, her inner voice dragged out the cry for dramatic effect. Her hand was itching to drag itself down her face in desperation. Her throat felt tight at the thought of losing Pamela’s trust entirely, at the possibility of her disappearing from her life.

She’d fucked up. Crossed a line. And now she was certainly going to have to pay the price for it. Her stomach lurched a bit, and she felt her blunt nails digging into her palms.

The best part was that she could beat herself over more than just the inappropriateness of picking up Pam’s phone. Oh yes, her brain was resourceful in finding things to beat herself up about: she could torture herself over the fact that this would forever be her first contact with Selina. This was _not_ the way to make a good first impression on her…her..what were they even? Her more-than-a-neighbour, hoping-she’ll-be-my-girlfriend’s _best friend_.

Selina was a force to be reckoned with. Agile as a cat, she’d evaded Harley’s many attempts to deflect and derail the conversation to other topics (like, off the top of her head, the fact _that she and Pam both had covid_ , for starters???). Instead, Selina had been poised to pounce on a figurative mouse: the juicy gossip that was her friend’s love life. Thankfully, Harley had been too panicked to give away anything incriminating, sometimes only answering with nods or shakes of her head that the other woman could obviously not see. Being dysfunctional had its perks, she guessed.

On some level, Harley knew she was possibly overreacting to the situation. If she simply paid more attention to the present moment, she’d notice that Pamela didn’t seem mad at her at all. If she wasn’t so distracted by her need for this woman to have a good opinion of her, she also might realize her reaction was simply her past trauma rearing its ugly head.

Her thoughts currently felt like an incoherent key smash.

Restless, pacing a bit, she sucked on her teeth; her body was reflexively tensing up, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Pam would have every right to be angry… Harley was barely listening in to the conversation being held next to her, the redhead exchanging witty barbs and- … and. Her mind came to an abrupt halt.

Her thoughts, uh, had been heading going somewhere. She had a point. _Yes_.

But that was before she’d finally gotten her head out of her ass and tuned in to the visual information her eyes were feeding her brain. Oh wow. _Thank you, eyes_. Pamela had elected to sit herself down on her bed (she was still weakened by the virus after all), engaged in conversation, her voice low in an effort to make the call slightly more private. And Harley was now completely enthralled by Pamela, her brain finally slowing down to appreciate the present moment.

Her eyes unashamedly raked up her bronze legs, up to barely covered, shapely thighs that she could easily imagine wrapped around her waist (...or her head--a hot flash coursed through her at the thought). Because the white towel had been wrapped so tightly around Pam’s body, the soft-looking fabric clung deliciously to her curves.

The sound of Pam’s voice on the phone was drowned out by the pounding roar of her quickening heartbeat. Her throat made a little gulping sound as she swallowed her saliva with difficulty. Harley could not- would not- break away her eyes, utterly taken by the effortless beauty and grace that Pamela just _emanated_. She was half-heartedly considering taking back all her witty barbs about schools’ dress-codes about girls’ visible shoulders being distracting because hot damn she could think of nothing else, dying to bring her mouth up to that collarbone, kiss up and up, to leave little marks and bask in the sighs of pleasure Pam would let out. She bit her lip, her mind easily slipping into dangerous territory. (Pamela was sitting on _a bed_ , and _nearly naked_ for god’s sake, and she was only human!)

Pamela apparently ended her phone call and soon turned to face her, and from the look of contained amusement on her face, Harley could tell she’d been found out (she knew she wasn't the most discreet person in the world) _._ Before her brain could take her for another loop of self-hatred, Pamela spoke, face unreadable.

“Could you help me get dressed?” Pam coughed into her elbow and shivered a bit.

Like a record-scratch in her brain, she blanked. Harley stood there, wide-eyed and awestruck, and before she could think better of it, watched herself give a little nod of assent.

“My pyjamas and underwear are over there in the wardrobe’s drawers.” Pam smiled and gestured with her head.

Had her voice always been so low? Harley pivoted and walked to where Pam was pointing, thankful for the opportunity to hide her confusion and burning, beet red cheeks. Harley was simply not equipped to cope with this situation.

_Was this a trap?_ Was Pamela finally making a move on her even though she still had a little fever? Oh no, was the fever the cause in the first place and she’d regret this tomorrow? Why wasn’t she asking her about the phone call? What had Selina told her? Was it wrong that she was enjoying this odd situation? She presumed that her two remaining braincells would not manage to keep her head out of the gutter if she really was going to be helping her get dressed.

She looked over her shoulder as her hands hovered over the wardrobe’s handles, and Pamela still had a strange look on her face. She gave her an encouraging smile, so Harley went ahead and pried the doors open. She found the pyjamas easily enough (booty shorts and a large green t-shirt that said “tree-hugger’…who knew? Pam was a dork at heart), but she almost choked on her saliva at all the lacy underwear that greeted her when she opened the drawers. _Don’t imagine her in em’, don’t imagine her in em’._ She involuntarily let out a tiny whimper as she promptly failed.

“Everything ok over there?”

Harley’s voiced was even higher pitched than usual when she replied, a bit too fast. “Uh, yeah, everythin’s just peachy.”

More coughs echoed within the bedrooms’ four walls, worrying Harley. She hoped that Pam wasn’t catching cold on top of having coronavirus.

Pyjamas and underwear in tow, she turned back towards Pam, and her two brain cells finally seemed to catch up with the situation. Was she expected to _actually dress Pam_? _With her hands?_

She tried to remind herself that she was helping out someone in need and it was inappropriate to be so damn aroused by the whole situation, but she couldn’t reason with the heat pooling low in her belly. Fuck fuck _fuck_. How did they always manage to end up in situations like this? First the sugar incident and now…whatever this was.

The gods seemingly took pity on her because as soon as she was within range, Pamela relieved her of the clothes, placing them next to her on the unmade bed. Not wasting a single second, she grabbed the underwear and started tugging them up her legs with her index fingers. She was careful not to let the towel rise too much in the final, small cant of her hips to slip them on fully.

Harley was sure she’d died and gone to heaven when Pam reached out for her t-shirt, and her towel, loosened by her earlier movements, started to slip off her body, giving Harley an eyeful of a stiffened brown nipple and _oh_. Oh, _shit_. A beautiful tattoo. The entire left side of Pamela's torso was delicately adorned with interwoven flowers and vines, sitting perfectly on her curves. Black on brown, the intricate lines were gorgeous, and she itched to run her thumb against them, to seek out the almost imperceptible bumps of the engravings. She wouldn’t have pegged Pam for someone who’d have a tattoo, but now that she’d seen it, it looked right. And _hot_.

Just as quickly as it had happened, Pamela’s arm flew up to catch the corner of the towel, tucking it back in her cleavage. It was like nothing had ever happened, but the picture was permanently branded in Harley’s memory, and oh god was _she_ was starting to get fever symptoms now? She stood there passively, hands fidgeting with one another.

Their eyes met again, and Pamela seemed more amused by Harley’s reaction than anything, the ghost of a coy smirk dancing on her lips, and Harley was left to wonder if she’d let the towel slip on purpose. But there was no way, right?

\---

Of course she’d done it on purpose. It was simply too easy and too fun to coax reactions out of the blushing blonde.

The best part was she was pinning _all_ of the blame on Selina, and for a perfectly reasonable reason, too.

Earlier, when she’d walked into her bedroom to find Harley on the phone with her best friend, she’d been far from the playful mood she was in now. Yes, she might’ve been feeling a bit better, refreshed and freed from the grimy, slimy feeling of her fever, but she was still not back on top of her game, her wobbly legs and light-headedness a good reminder that she was still sick. She could feel that her body was weakened, fighting the virus with all it had. She had also felt her stomach drop, concerned with what her devious friend might’ve told Harley. She didn’t even spare a thought for how she’d ended up on the phone with Selina in the first place, she was just relieved to see her handing the phone over.

Thankfully her no-nonsense voice had sobered her best friend’s mischievous glee in a matter of seconds, and Selina assured her that she hadn’t said anything incriminating. But her yielding tone didn’t last very long, quickly reverting to a teasing offensive.

“I’ve been trying to reach you since last night, you haven’t been answering any of my calls or texts, kitten. If I’d known it was because you were getting railed I would’v-“

“Selina,” Pamela interrupted, her voice low and warning. Her eyes flicked to poor Harley, who was standing more than a meter away, looking nervous and pacing a bit.

Her friend completely ignored her stern tone. “My, what a raspy voice Pamela. Did she have you screaming all night long?”

How and why her friend was always so unabashedly rejoicing in teasing her friend about sex, Pamela would never understand. Despite herself, the mention of cries of pleasure triggered memories of Harley’s breathless voice moaning with abandon from the other side of the wall, and the next shiver that travelled up her spine wasn’t because from the cold. Quite the opposite.

Pamela’s incoming scolding tirade was cut off by a sudden bout of coughing from the back of her throat, and Selina finally seemed to catch on a bit, sounded worried. “Darling, are you sick?”

Determined to seize her chance and explain the situation (and clear her good name), she expediently caught her friend up on the previous night’s date, how it had ended dramatically, and why Harley was now in her bedroom (pacing awkwardly). Selina listened attentively, expressing concern and then relief that her friend’s symptoms weren’t too serious.

“How sweet that she’s taking care of you… I’m relieved that there’s someone with you in case anything goes wrong.”

“Yes, and we’ll talk about this more, I just have to go right now.”

“Go where? You have corona.”

Pam sighed. “I need to go get dressed..“ she trailed off for half a second, eyes caught by Harley's pacing, and that was half a second too much for Selina, who cut her off dryly.

“I knew there was more to this than meets the eye. You better tell me _everything_ next time... I’ll leave you two to it, then.”

When Pamela's brain finally caught up with her ears, it was too late. "Wait, no! You-" , but her friend completely ignored her.

“Call me back later!” She abruptly hung up, like that was the end of that, and Pamela, entirely whiplashed, stared at her phone with half contained frustration.

And that was why she was unashamedly blaming her thirst on Selina, who’d dumped filthy images in her brain and abandoned her with no warning whatsoever.

Pamela wondered if the heat she felt was her fever, her arousal, or a little bit of both. From her peripheral vision, she could see the sinful, simmering look Harley was giving her, eyes glued to her exposed skin. It thrilled her, made the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on edge, as she realized just how much she enjoyed the pleasure of the chase, the teasing, flirting dance that she’d started with Harley that fateful day when they had met at the supermarket. She never wanted it to end.

So, she took the opportunity she saw and decided to tease Harley a bit, getting her to fetch her pyjamas and underwear for her from the wardrobe. (And it wasn’t that evil, really, since she really didn’t fully trust her legs just yet…). She enjoyed taking in Harley’s adorably flushed, distracted face, and basked in the nervous looks that were sent her way. Loosening her towel had simply been the perfect payback for Harley masturbating loudly on the other side of the wall, payback for the erotic cries that had had her waking up all sweaty and frustrated.

Pamela plastered a coy smile on her face as she expectantly handed her t-shirt to Harley. She raised her arms above her head, noting how blue eyes flew to her barely covered breasts, but despite the temptation, Harley managed to hold out the shirt above Pam’s raised arms, and tugged it down onto her torso wordlessly. Pamela took in a deep breath to expand her chest and make the towel fall away from under the cotton, leaving her in an oversized t-shirt and her panties.

Harley was eying the booty shorts nervously, but Pamela wasn’t feeling merciful. Far from it.

“Could you help me with those too? My legs still feel a bit unsure.”

“Sure.” Her neighbour’s voice came out a bit squeaky, and Pamela had to suppress a smile.

The blonde’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, and soon enough Pamela had quite a beautiful view. Harley was kneeling in front of her, looking up at her expectantly, shorts in hand. Pamela felt a blush creep up her neck, accompanied by a pulsing throb of desire in her center. An image of those same blue eyes staring back at her heatedly, a blonde head tucked snugly between her thighs flashed in her mind's eye.

“Could ya, uh, lift your feet?”

Pamela obliged and Harley slowly slipped the shorts up her legs, intense eyes still boring into her own, her hands barely brushing against her skin along the way. Once the shorts reached her upper thighs, she lifted her hips to let them slip under her ass.

Harley, still in an awkward kneeling position before her, let her hands linger on her hips for a few seconds before stepping away, absent-mindedly licking her lips. That wasn’t fair. She could _almost_ still feel the warm ghost of her hands on her body, and her mind was quickly supplying other blissful ways Harley’s deft hands (and tongue) could feel against her body.

“Thanks for the help.” Her voice sounded way breathier (and needier) than she’d intended. _Fuck_.

“Glad I could help, Red.” Harley’s eyes were unwavering now, like she’d overcome her initial hesitation.

Embarrassed at how her plan had backfired, Pamela broke their shared gaze, and her eyes landed on her alarm clock. It was already mid-afternoon…She was dragging herself up the bed, scooting up with her elbows and slipping under the covers, when she remembered something important.

“My plants!”

Harley sympathetically mirrored her panicked expression for a second, but then swiftly shifted gears and tried to calm her down, arms raised in front of her chest.

“Hey! Hey, it’s okay Pam I can take care of your plants for you! No sweat.” She broke through Pamela’s knee-jerk panic at the thought that she wouldn’t be able to take care of her babies as long as she was bedridden. Which could be a few days. And her plants needed daily care and attention.

“Are you sure? It’s a lot of work, each plant has different needs…” She trailed off, already overwhelmed by the logistics of it all.

“Yeah, I know how much they mean to ya, I’ll do my best to follow your instructions. D’you mind if I record em'? I might forget otherwise.”

Pamela felt warmth bloom in her chest at the genuine smile Harley was sending her way. She looked too sweet for words. And she’d never had anyone care about her plants before. It felt…nice.

“Oh, uh sure. But it might take a while for me to explain everything.”

“That’s fine with me, Red.” Harley gave her a toothy grin as she took out her phone to record Pamela’s instructions.

As she started to explain her watering method, pot colour coding and daily schedule, and as Harley listened attentively, Pamela realized she might be in deeper than she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3 if you liked this please leave a comment, they make my heart sing!


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